A Rider's Sword
by Mariah Dawnsinger
Summary: Part III: New allies have appeared to assist in the ongoing struggle against the Empire. Murtagh and Mariah have both returned after being held captive by Galbatorix. Can they to be trusted or were they sent by the king to strike at the heart of the resistance itself? Reviews always welcome. First Chapter is posted!
1. Updates, Information, and Characters

**This is part Three of Four stories in** ** _A Rider's Inheritance._**

 **A Rider's Blood is Part I (1) and A Rider's Heart - Part II (2).**

 **Disclaimer:** This story is a FanFiction based on the events in those books, and some parts may be similar or exactly the same as parts of the book. If I took note of them all, this comment would never end. Just know that some parts are mine and some parts belong exclusively to Christopher Paolini. I do not take credit for any of his words, merely intertwine them with my own to write this story. If there are any questions, please contact me, leave a comment in a review, etc. Thank you.

Author Notes: As I am writing this, I am re-reading the Inheritance Cycle.

 **A Rider's Sword**

 _Chapter Ninety: Mercy_

Author updates after every new chapter, spoilers will be kept to a minimum on this page and will be posted with a warning if they are **absolutely necessary** *

* **Review Comments** will be added to the bottom of this page and labeled as to when they were added*

* * *

 **Main/Current**

 _ **Mariah Dawnsinger**_ – Age: 16

Birthday: Late July

Black straight hair typically past her shoulders, jade green eyes. Slightly shorter than Eragon.  
Prefers tunics over dresses. Capable of using magic, and learned sword fighting from Brom. She is capable of using other weaponry such a bow, but prefers close combat. Typically has a dagger on her person. Wields **Ancalë** , a gold and red Rider's Blade.

 _ **Andrar**_ – Red-orange scales. Male. Mariah's dragon. Several months older than Saphira. Bulkier than the female dragonesses, though larger in every respect as well. His wing span is wider than Saphira's and his claws, spikes and teeth longer. He was born at the end of September, a week or two before Saphira. His face is scarred after a viscous fight with Shruikan, Galbatorix's Dragon.

* * *

 ** _Marcus_** – Age: 19 - 20

Birthday: Late December

Black hair to his ears, deep blue eyes. Taller than Eragon by a few inches. Scar over his left eyebrow in his hair line. Wears tunics with pants and hooded cloaks when traveling. Able to use a sword well from training with Brom. Bow and arrows, used for hunting. Obsession with magic, talented from both reading and practice.

 ** _Aluora_** – Marcus' dusky white mare, with black mane, tail, legs, ears and nose-tip.

* * *

 ** _Eragon Shadeslayer_** – Age: 16

Birthday: Mid February

Blond hair, sky blue eyes.* Slightly taller than Mariah.  
When not in battle, a plain jerkin with breeches, and comfortable boots. Excellent swordsman. His magic abilities were granted to him through becoming a Rider, and increase only through training with the elves. **Zar'roc** was his sword until he was disarmed during the battle of the Burning Plains.

*Yes, I know.

 _ **Saphira**_ – Ocean blue scales. Female. Eragon's dragoness. She is lithe compared to Andrar with a smaller wing span and more curved features. Her scales are more rounded than Andrar's, which are more diamond shaped. She was born in October, just a week or so after Andrar.

* * *

 ** _Murtagh_** \- Age: 19

Birthday: Early April

Shaggy dark brown hair, gray eyes. Slightly taller than Eragon. Though he prefers and is accustomed to heavy, embroidered clothing and expensive boots, he often finds himself wearing through whatever he has on hand. His hand-and-a-half sword makes his weapon stand out against more typical blades. At the age of eighteen, he is already a master swordsman. Became a Rider after Galbatorix captured him and Mariah after the battle under Farthen Dûr.

 _ **Thorn**_ \- Ruby red dragon with a fierce fiery gaze. Murtagh's dragon given to him by Galbatorix. The same size as Andrar after Galbatorix's magical modifications. He was born, shortly before his Rider's birthday, in late March.

* * *

 _ **Kieran**_ \- Age: 18 - 19

Birthday: Mid October

Long brown hair to her mid-back that she often keeps in a braid and deep midnight blue eyes. Wears heels to make herself appear taller. She is the same height as Mariah. Loves dresses and jewelry. **Eirian** is her silver Rider's Blade that formerly belonged to an ancient Elvish Rider called Fëanáro. Also carries a dagger. Kendra's twin sister.

 _ **Nasreen**_ \- Magenta-red-pink-purple scales. Female. Princess Kieran's dragoness. She's twice as large as Andrar with a very feminine physique compared to Saphira. She is nearly four years old.

* * *

 _ **Kendra -**_ Age: 18 - 19

Birthday: Mid October

Brown hair to her shoulders and deep midnight blue eyes. Wears well-worn heeled boots, comfortable yet tight-fitting dark clothes to hide herself at night. An armored corset. She is quite capable with magic (healing and fighting), swords, daggers and a bow. Kieran's twin sister.

 _ **Lynette**_ \- Kendra's chestnut mare. Killed by Nasreen during the battle of the Burning Plains.

 _ **Nyx** \- _Kendra's black wolf-dog. She found him a few years ago as a pup and raised him as her own. He is fiercely loyal to her and has been trained to fight.

* * *

 _ **Arya**_ \- Age: 103

Long wavy black hair, vibrant emerald green eyes. Tall and thin. She wears a tunic and pants even for formal occasions. Her magical abilities and sword fighting skills are only matched by another elf, or a Rider.

 _ **Firnen**_ \- Green dragon hatchling. His scales vary in color and are round before coming to a point, like a leaf shape. He hatched for Arya after the Battle of the Burning Plains.

* * *

 _ **Nasuada**_ \- Age: 18

Mossy, braided long black hair. A wide nose and dark eyes and rich skin tone. She wears long dresses of varying colors. All are high quality and made specifically for her. She is able to use a bow with ease. Carries a concealed knife.

 _ **Battle-storm**_ \- Nasuada's black roan stallion.

* * *

 ** _Roran Stronghammer_** – Age: 18  
Eragon's cousin. Left before Garrow's death for work in Therinsford as a blacksmith's assistant. Escaped the Empire, leading the village of Carvahall to Surda to find Eragon so he could rescue Katrina.

* * *

 _ **Katrina -**_ Age: 17  
A beautiful girl from Carvahall, daughter of Sloan, the butcher. Roran is madly in love with her. They recently became engaged, though Roran didn't ask Sloan's permission before doing so. She has been kidnapped by the Ra'zac.

* * *

 **Black Lightning Members**

 _ **Rowan**_ \- King of the Black Palace, member of Black Lightning with Kendra. Dark hair and blue-gray eyes. Twenty.

 _ **Trevin**_ \- Black Lightning archer. Ginger hair and gold eyes. Twenty.

 _ **Delaney**_ \- Black Lightning Tactician and lancer. Blonde hair and brown eyes. Eighteen.

 ** _Eirika -_** Black Lightning healer. Blonde hair and brown eyes. Sixteen.

* * *

 **The New Forsworn**

 ** _Camilla Reikena_** \- Dark brown eyes. Waist length curly, wild brown hair and fine skin. Rapier weapon of choice. Twenty-two.

 _ **Belladonna**_ \- Frosted Lavender, Female. Camilla's dragon.

 ** _Cederic Reikena_** \- Dark brown eyes. Curly brown hair to his ears and fine skin. Double handed sword or axe. Twenty-one.

 _ **Reaper**_ \- Stormy Gray, Male. Cederic's dragon.

 ** _Pearce_** \- Gray eyes. Short blonde hair and sun-worn skin. Short sword and shield. Nineteen.

 _ **Talath -**_ Copper, Male. Pearce's dragon.

 ** _Hal Kirkland_** \- Stormy blue eyes. Cropped brown hair and tanned skin. Sword. Twenty-one.

 _ **Deíron -**_ Muddy Brown, Male. Hal's dragon.

 ** _Innes Thorston -_** Brown and hazel eyes. Long platinum hair and fair skin. Magic. Twenty.

 _ **Ecaeris**_ \- Yellow-Green with Black Eyes, Female. Innes' dragon.

 ** _Odette Blithe_** \- Brown eyes. Pale ginger hair with peaches and creme colored skin. Archery. Nineteen. - "Died" attempting to speak with her deceased dragon, Cordis.

 **Sigrúne -** A Shade. The combination of Odette and Cordis's souls combined into Odette's body.

* * *

 **Other Characters**

Enemies:

 ** _Morzan_** – One of the thirteen Forsworn/Wyrdfell Riders. Murtagh's father.

 _ **Galbatorix**_ – King of Alagaësia, a Dragon Rider. His dragon is named Shruiken. The black beast is his second and has been warped and twisted beyond the point of calling it a dragon.

* * *

Allies:

 _ **Oromis**_ \- Elvish Rider from Ellesmera. He's vowed to train the new Dragon Riders, which now includes Eragon and Saphira.

 _ **Glaedr**_ \- Gold dragon with a missing foreleg. His size is massive, mountainous even. He's hundreds of years old, like his elvish Rider.

 _ **Orik**_ **-** Dwarf from the Varden who rescued Eragon and Mariah from drowning in the waterfall pool. Nephew of King Hrothgar.

 _ **Queen Islanzadi**_ \- Elvish queen from Du Weldenvarden. Also, apparently Arya's mother, much to Eragon's surprise.

 _ **King Orrin**_ **-** King of Surda who helps the Varden survive and retaliate against the Empire.

 ** _Angela_** \- Herbalist in Teirm. Likes frogs and riddles. Is also a witch who told Eragon his fortune with Dragon Bones.

 _ **Gannel**_ ** _-_** the dwarf priest who tutored Eragonin Dwarven customs and religionafter Eragon was invited to be a part of Durgrimst Ingeitum.

 _ **Trianna**_ _\- Sorceress in Farthen Dur, leader of Du Vrangr Gata after the Twins._

 _ **Jeod**_ _**Longshanks**_ \- Graying with a beard. Friend of Brom's from when they were younger. Owns a shipping company. Knows about Saphira. Helped Eragon and Brom find the Ra'zac.

 _ **Helen Longshanks**_ \- Blonde with a pale complexion. Wife of Jeod.

 ** _Horst_** – Blacksmith in Carvahall

 _ **Elain**_ – Horst's wife

 ** _Gertrude_** – Healer in Carvahall

Horses:

 _ **Snowfire**_ – Pure white stallion. Brom purchased him in Therinsford. Mariah rode him after Brom. Lives at the Varden.

 ** _Cadoc_** – Light bay horse Brom purchased for Eragon in Therinsford. Eragon named him after his grandfather.

 _ **Tornac**_ **-** Murtagh's Gray stallion.

 _ **Breeze**_ \- Eirika's black and white appaloosa mare. She's mainly black with a white blanket on her haunches.

Other Creatures:

 _ **Solembum**_ \- A werecat. He lives with Angela at her Herbalist shop in Teirm. Now in Farthen Dur.

 ** _Ra'zac_** – Servants of Galbatorix. Eragon wants revenge against them for killing his uncle Garrow.

* * *

 **Deceased**

 ** _Cordis_** **-** Odette's dragon. Galbatorix killed him while trying to use a growth spell on him.

 ** _Brom_** – Age: Unknown, Silver hair, blue eyes. Taller than Mark. Mariah and Mark's grandfather - he died while trying to escape the Ra'zac.

 ** ___** _ – Mark and Mariah's father. Deceased member of the Forsworn.

 _ **Nailah Moonsinger**_ \- Mariah and Mark's Mother. Deceased member of the Forsworn. Brom's daughter.

 _ **Durza -**_ Shade Eragon and Mariah fought in Gil'ead. Red hair and eyes. Vampiric looking, teenager. Eragon killed him during the Battle of Farthen Dur.

 _ **Ajihad**_ **-** Human leader of the Varden. A friend of Brom's. Interrogates Eragon and Mariah and answers their questions when they arrive. He died while trying to route the remaining Urgals in Farthen Dur.

 _ **Garrow**_ – Eragon's uncle, Roran's father. Died at the hands of the Ra'zac when they destroyed his home.

 _ **The**_ _ **Twins**_ \- Members of the Varden's magic society Du Vangr Grata, they betray Eragon and Mariah during the Battle of Farthen Dur, later revealing themselves to be working for Galbatorix. Killed by Roran during the battle of the Burning Plains.

 ** _Hrothgar_** _-_ Dwarf King who helps to lead the Varden alongside Ajihad. Also Orik's uncle. Killed by Mariah during the battle of the Burning Plains.

* * *

 **OC Other** : Characters created by the author for story purposes that do not appear in the books.

 ** _Jenna -_** Gypsy woman met on the road to Teirm

 ** _Kyan_** **-** Jenna's husband, leader of Gypsy merchant caravan

 _ **Azraa**_ \- Jenna and Kyan's daughter, eight years old

 _ **Fadil**_ \- Jenna and Kyan's eldest son, eleven years old

 _ **Maher -**_ Jenna and Kyan's younger son, six years old

 _ **Lord**_ _ **Breezewood**_ \- A lord that lives on the border of Surda and the Beor Mountains

 _ **Natalie**_ \- Kieran's personal maid. A young girl who excels at sewing.

* * *

 **Review Comments and Questions** : _Author Answers_


	2. Ch 82: Dawnsinger

**Chapter Eighty-Two: Dawnsinger**

It was nearing midnight and the Varden's encampment had finally settled into the quiet of the darkness. The quiet murmur of guards standing vigil, and the crackling of campfires still burning were of little disturbance compared to the roaring din of the battle that had raged on only hours before.

Kendra looked over at the Rider curled up on her bed and let out a sigh. Smoothly, she pulled a chair from the table and settled it next to the bed, sweeping down into the seat. After a brief moment she raised her chin and spoke, "You'd best stop crying." The raven-haired girl had her eyes covered and was red in the face. Before leaving his sister in her care, Mark had briefly told Kendra what had happened, telepathically of course, and a stroke of empathy for his sister as he'd relayed her dismay.

The girl gasped. "I can't…" she breathed out through her sobs.

Men were cruel. Kendra shook her head. "There's no point to it, crying like this. All it's going to do is make you feel worse. Come on now." This girl wasn't even of age yet, and already her heart had been crushed – by one of her best friends moreover. The parallel of their situations was bordering on ironic. She pushed her own troubles from her mind and focused on the Rider. She was cut and bruised from the preceding battle, and on her forearm a hand-shaped mark was settling on her pale skin, causing Kendra to frown.

Finally, Mariah raised her head to look at Kieran's sister and wiped at her face. Kendra was identical, but she could instantly see the differences between them. She was more muscular, hardened differently than Kieran, perhaps due to her rebellious nature or time spent on her own. Her hair was shorter and hung loose around her shoulders where Kieran's was usually pulled up. She spoke in a tone so naturally authorative, like a mother to her child, that Mariah felt compelled to stop.

"That's better," she insisted, watching as her tears dried. "You should eat something." Kendra stood and picked up a small plate of food, handing it to her.

Mariah shakily took the plate and set it in her lap. The meat was cold but filled her stomach, so she didn't complain, keeping her eyes down as she ate. Finally, she muttered, "You aren't as cruel as Kieran said you were."

Kendra barked out a laugh, "Of course that bitch would tell everyone I'm the unpleasant one." With a sigh she leaned back in her chair, shaking her head.

"I didn't believe her anyway." Mariah insisted, setting down her empty plate beside her, folding her hands in her lap. "I could always tell she missed you. A sister cannot deny her affection for her sibling, no matter how hard she tries."

"It's different with us, you have a brother, and you two share a very deep bond. I assure you it's not the same with me and my twin."

Mariah shook her head, "So you say, but I can tell. The moment she knew of your being alive, she changed her plans for our attack. It quickly became a struggle to find you, not to win for Galbatorix. She insisted upon collecting you herself. The intention had been to take you with us, yes, but more importantly to see you safe." She paused, considering whether to continue. "Besides, Murtagh always spoke so highly of you that I didn't put any stock into what Kieran told me. I trust his opinion far more."

Kendra stilled, watching her. "And what did he say?"

"He said you liked dogs and horses and hate being a princess; that you enjoyed hunting. Are an excellent swordsman. And that if anyone could overthrow Galbatorix single handedly that it would be you. From what I've seen so far, I believe him. My brother puts his faith in only a chosen few. You are someone special indeed if he has done so of his own volition." Mariah watched her face, "Murtagh saw you, didn't he? That time he left on his own for Galbatorix?"

She turned her head away, looking at Nyx as he slept on the floor by the foot of the bed. "I was just outside of Furnost…"

Sensing her hesitation, Mariah nodded. "That sounds about right. I didn't know for sure, but I guessed after they told me you were fighting here with the Varden. They were both so worried about you… it was as if their only purpose was to keep you safe." Mariah paused. "The night he returned from the mission to Furnost he was… extremely distraught."

"He should have been; I nearly killed him."

Mariah said, shaking her head, "No, not like that." Her voice faltered and she picked up the blanket, wrapping it around her shoulders and sighed, a few more tears leaking from her eyes. "I'm sorry Kendra."

"There's nothing for you to be sorry for." Kendra said to her, "I will allow you to stay here, for the night, as a payment to your brother. However, I must insist upon putting wards on you to avoid any incidents."

She nodded, "I understand. I apologize for the trouble I've caused you. Now… and with Murtagh. I didn't know. If I would have realized-"

"There's nothing for you to be sorry for," Kendra insisted, placing binding wards around her wrists. "And even if there was, you would not be the one I would blame."

"-but Murtagh?"

"Murtagh and I grew up together under some very extreme circumstances. Anything you've inferred is simply you assumption. Think nothing of it." She stood and walked to the other side of the room, pushing out a bed roll. "Now, get some sleep." Kendra flopped onto the ground, her back to the Rider.

* * *

He brushed aside the fabric to his tent and watched Eragon sadly for a moment. The Rider was sitting with his elbows on his knees, fumbling with a piece of slate between his long, sure fingers. As Mark entered, he hurriedly shoved it beneath a blanket. Glancing up at Mark, he paled but remained still, as though trying to hide his sudden fear.

Mark observed him for a moment, saying nothing. As Mariah's brother, he should beat Eragon into the dirt until he couldn't walk straight anymore. As Eragon's friend, he should make light of the situation and its implied consequences, before turning around and helping him find a new pursuit for his affections. There was an answer as to why this had happened, and Mark wasn't sure he wanted to know. If there was no mending the situation, he didn't think he could manage. Very few memories didn't have the phrase "Mariah _and_ Eragon" in it; and after watching them both suffer the past few years as they both stumbled into adulthood, had assumed this convergence he'd help orchestrate after such dramatic events would have resulted in an overwhelming crash of emotion. He blinked, realizing it had – just not in the way he had expected, or wished.

There was abruptly a vision in his head he couldn't remember thinking of before - a future that didn't have Mariah _and_ Eragon in it. He became aware of the future turning into watching Mariah becoming an adult, alone for the remainder of her immortal life, and staying with him until he inevitably withered and died. Resigning himself to the idea that he was never likely to engage in having a family of his own, he had always expected to be there for _them_ and _their_ children. There was a possibility that future was uncertain - or impossible - and he cringed at the thought. His sister was nearly sixteen; but of course there was time for her to find someone else. As a Rider it would not be difficult for her to attract the affections of anyone she wanted. In fact, he could think of several people who would be more than willing to ask her for her hand. Mark stood in front of Eragon, staring at his face, only able to ask himself one question: why?

He moved to his bed on the opposite side of the tent, aware of Eragon still sitting ridged across from him. Methodically, he removed his boots and cloak, dropping his sword beside him on the floor before stretching out, hearing a loud pop from somewhere in his back.

Physically, Eragon had changed much in the short months he'd been away, returning whole once again, but with strangely foreign features. It was somehow more startling, however, to see the changes that Mariah had been exposed to. Whether it was due to being in Urû'baen, or if Galbatorix had forced magic upon her, perhaps it was just her aging, she appeared far different from when he had seen his sister last. The cut of her face and eyes were sharper and more angled. She was taller, almost able to look him in the eye now, even without heels on her boots. Having hugged her, he'd nearly said something aloud, but managed to keep his thoughts to himself. There were more important matters: such as, why Eragon had still said nothing.

Mark turned and settled himself on the bed, sighing, hunched over slightly, mirroring Eragon's pose with his arms on his knees. He frowned slightly. If they had both changed so much over such little time, then that could be one explanation. Eragon would never be so slight as to accuse her of being unfaithful to him, though they had never solidified their affections before now. If anything, Mariah should know how resolutely he had pursued Arya while they were in Ellesméra, she would likely be devastated by the thought, but there had been no inkling of Arya during his quick search of her mind. Eragon had not said something to her about that, not yet at least.

She had been with the Empire three months now, and reappeared alongside Murtagh on dragonback at the head of Galbatorix's army. Perhaps he was intimidated by the prospect of her being stronger than him, as Mark suspected she very well might be. Being a third-generation Dragon Rider was bound to have a bold effect upon her. Upon learning of his ancestry, he knew his blood to be a major part of his own magical capabilities. It wouldn't be because of her lineage that Eragon had rejected her. He wouldn't be as petty as that. He had learned of Murtagh's father long before now and insisted it didn't matter, and then found out that he was Murtagh's brother. It would be hypocritical of him to accuse her of being traitorous just because of her parents. Besides, that would accuse him of being a traitor, and Eragon hadn't said two bits to him about it.

He really didn't love her. It was possible. In fact it was starting to look like the only option. After learning so much about the world, he had grown out of his childhood affections and decided to pursue something more. Mark had never known his sister to be considered unattractive, and had on more than one occasion run off some of the young men in Carvahall and beyond from trying to win her attention. There was the fact they were both Riders, and had known each other since infancy; their compatibility shouldn't be a question. No. That couldn't possibly be it; he loved her more than he wanted to admit. That damn fairth he'd been trying to hide since his arrival proved it. Then…

"I don't know how this happened," he admitted slowly aloud, reigning in his emotions. "However, I am going to choose not to get involved. You are my friend and she is my sister. If I must take a side, you know by whom I will stand. I don't expect an explanation, nor do I believe I want one. There is no reasoning that makes sense to me… so; I would continue to advise you as long as you see fit, Eragon Shadeslayer. Now, I'm going to get some sleep, and so should you, it has been a very long day." He twisted back onto his bunk and stretched out, closing his eyes, ignoring the Rider and trying to forget the day's events.

* * *

"Your sister is absolutely delightful." A male voice spoke brightly, rousing her consciousness. The bed was still warm and she felt safe, not wanting to leave the confines of her dreamless sleep. Keeping her eyes shut, she listened hazily to the conversation just behind her.

Kendra responded, her voice sour. "No, she's really not."

"I assure you," the man said. "She thanked me for bringing her food, then saw my head and insisted that she healed it for me. Said she felt bad that I got hurt trying to protect her sister. I love twins."

The princess growled, "She actually thanked you?"

"Yes ma'am. And she is much more relaxed than you are, that's for sure."

"What's that smirk mean?" There was a drop of anxiety in her voice now.

"Well… let's just say your sister is an excellent kisser and leave it at that. Ah, the Rider awakens."

Mariah sat up, the blanket pooling around her. She looked between the two of them, confused.

Kendra scowled up at him. "This is Trevin, he's my archer."

He waved a bit to Mariah, looking back at the princess. "Should I be going?"

"You should already be gone. Go check up on the others for me, will you? I'll find Rowan later."

"Consider it done," Trevin assured her, flicking a wicked grin at the princess once more before leaving.

"Always so loud," she muttered, rubbing her temples. Kendra set a small stack of clothes on Mariah's bed, "Get changed, I'm going to get you some food. I'll be back in a minute."

"Actually I was going to find Mark, so if you'll wait I'll come with you instead."

Kendra watched her for a moment, questioning it then nodded. "Sure. Come outside when you're changed."

Mariah shrugged out of her torn clothes and settled into the brown pants and blue shirt. The leather corset stitched up the sides, so she was able to hand tie them herself without much difficulty. After slipping into a pair of comfortable leather boots she strode from the tent, looking at the princess. Kendra nodded and started off toward a large pavilion nearby where supplies were being kept.

She instinctively reached for her sword, which was not with her, as she was jumped from behind. "Morning!"

Struggling from his grip, she twisted around and punched him in the shoulder. "Not funny," she hissed.

Mark grinned, dragging Mariah back into a hug, kissing the top of her head. "Sleep okay? Kendra wasn't too mean, was she?" The woman rolled her eyes, muttering at him as she stalked off to find food.

"No," Mariah insisted. "She was wonderful. You shouldn't be mean to her; I don't know how she's put up with you these past two months."

He pretended to be highly offended, gasping at her, "I'm absolutely delightful, what are you talking about?"

"Yes, a true gentleman, when you want to be, but looks like you showed her your true colors, didn't -you? Black, evil, conniving. Did you get shorter?"

"She's just as bad as I am," he assured her, dropping into a seat at a table that clearly was meant for Nasuada and her closest guards. "And no, you're just used to wearing heels now it seems. Now, let's get breakfast, I'm starving."

Kendra threw down a plate in front of him, "Shut up." She slid into a chair across the table and pushed food at Mariah. "Eat."

She withdrew mentally, watching them talk to one another while she ate. Their chatter on the surface seemed idle enough, in the event of wandering ears, but every few sentences they exchanged information that was of actual value. If she hadn't known better, their system should have taken years to perfect, but the conversation flowed so easily she had no doubt now that Kendra too was clever and deceptive.

Deeper than that were subtleties that betrayed her brother. Flickers of emotion, his phrasing of questions, and gestures she knew he made in order to help hide his own thoughts. She watched him carefully and blinked before looking at Kendra. She was leaning into their conversation, talking animatedly, a hint of a smile on her face. It was strikingly different to the conversation she and the princess had held last night.

Mark caught his sister's stare and raised his eyebrows, "What?"

"Nothing," she said, turning her gaze back to her food.

When they had finished, Kendra left them in search of her companions, promising to find Mark again later. There was still more to discuss apparently. Mark stood, stretching and waited for his sister. Spinning on his heel, he led the way out of the pavilion and started looking for Nasuada. They arrived to find her and Arya in a heated discussion.

"I missed something," Mark said hesitantly, looking between the two women. "What now?"

Nasuada's growl made him flinch, "Eragon thinks it necessary to go with Roran to rescue Katrina."

"You seem surprised." Mark folded his arms, "And bothered. Why?"

"I need him here. We cannot withstand another attack by the Empire if Galbatorix so desires, and we now have three enemy Riders captive on top of that."

"You can't deny him leave Nasuada. Roran is his cousin, and as long as the king holds her capture over him, Eragon too is subject to his power. Where we come from, family is of the utmost importance. Now, please tell me you're going to allow him leave."

"Saphira argued his case quite well, as Eragon was unable to articulate his words." She sighed, dropping her head. "I know the Ra'zac to be formidable opponents, and I am worried about his safety and ours."

Mariah paused, looking at her brother. "Mark is more than a match for a Rider, Nasuada. He's proven that to you… and Kendra and Arya will both be here. Allow me to accompany Eragon, and I assure you he will return to you safely. I know my way through the Empire, I have knowledge of their troop disbursement and numbers - we can make it to and from Helgrind safely in just a few short days. With three of us, the Ra'zac will be outnumbered."

"I am not letting you go. It's dangerous enough to allow Eragon and Saphira to leave, but you and Andrar will likely be spotted in a second. Besides, we are not yet allies, Dawnsinger."

"Which is why Andrar will stay here with Mark." He opened his mouth to protest, so she kept talking, "Andrar is a match for Thorn or Nasreen if they do decide to try and leave. You will have a dragon to protect you, and my brother will be here as well. I doubt much will get beyond them. In the meantime, I am the best chance your Rider has to get through the Empire's land unscathed and return here to you, in less time than anticipated. One dragon will be able to get by unnoticed easier than two. And if we do somehow find ourselves in trouble, I will hopefully be able to talk our way back out of it. You do remember as of yesterday I was the general of the Imperial Army, I doubt word will have traveled so quickly of my capture."

Nasuada watched her suspiciously, looking at Mark. He sighed, throwing his head back. "You know she's right, m'lady. If he goes without her, she'll just follow him anyway. And she has sworn allegiance to him, so if she does turn on him suddenly, well… _your_ Rider will return alive."

She bit her tongue, "If Eragon will allow it, yes, you may leave. I can do nothing to stop you except ask Du Vrangr Gata to hold you captive, but I doubt even they alone can make you stay. Your brother will allow you to leave, and I believe Kendra would as well. Arya, have you objections?"

The she-elf looked Mariah over, blinking once, "If Dawnsinger deems it important that she travels with Eragon, then so be it. I heard her oath yesterday with my own ears. Anyone foolish enough to submit themselves to such an oath will find a way with or without our permission."

"Thank you Nasuada," Mariah said, turning and rushing from the tent before they could change their minds, leaving Mark to dash after her. He found her standing in front of a very angry looking red-orange dragon.

Andrar snorted at her, sparks and smoke rolling from his nostrils as he nudged her, his large teeth showing as his jaws parted, a rumbling growl emitting from his chest. Andrar's tail lashed back and forth, breaking a barrel of mead behind him, splashing it across the ground. He stomped a foot into the dirt and snapped at Mariah before whipping his scarred face back and turning, stalking off through the camp.

"What did you say?"

"I told him I was going, and that was the end of it," she shrugged. "He knows what's going through my mind." Mariah blinked over at her brother and rubbed her shoulder a bit. "I'm sorry about everything."

"Don't apologize, there's nothing you did wrong." Mark grinned at her, flicking his hair out of his eyes.

"You need to cut it again."

He shrugged, "It's fine."

"I'm surprised you bother to shave," she admitted, folding her arms.

"I look awful with a beard."

Mariah laughed, "True. So, about last night…"

"There's nothing to talk about. But you should probably let him know you're going along; I know you won't simply ask." His smirk made her shake her head. "I need to go find Kendra, I'll find you when I'm finished talking with her. Think you can stay out of trouble for that long?"

"I'll try."

* * *

Nasreen lifted her head, watching as Nasuada entered the tent. Kieran stood, watching her expectantly, greeting her with a small bow of her head. "Good morning Nasuada."

"Hello Kieran," she said, stopping in front of her with Arya and Elva just behind her. "Did you sleep well?"

"Well enough as to be expected," she admitted, glancing over the girl with the purple eyes behind the dark skinned woman. "Thank you."

Nodding, Nasuada said, "Good. Now, we are quickly planning on pursuing the Empire. There is a question I need an answer for. Your answer dictates how we will proceed. I need to know if you'll fight for the Varden, and assist me as your sister has done these past few months."

Kieran sat back down beside Nasreen, looking at her pink scales. "Since I was a child I have been raised by my father as a weapon. The sole purpose of my life since Nasreen hatched for me was to destroy the Varden, the Elves, and any other enemies that might present themselves to Galbatorix." She sighed, looking back up at Nasuada. "I know my sister has been helping you these past few weeks… and until yesterday I had not spoken to her in several years. Lady Nasuada, I don't know if I can be of assistance to you as she has been."

"Nonsense. You are a Dragon Rider, regardless of your lineage. And if what you, Murtagh, and Mariah have said is true, and Galbatorix has more Riders, then we are in desperate need of your help. However, if you cannot offer me your full cooperation, then I fear we cannot have an accord. Your word will not be enough. What I ask of you is not simply your empty promise."

"I understand," Kieran said, nodding.

"I do not ask for an answer in this moment, but soon. We are marching after your father's army quickly."

"Yes, of course."

Nasuada nodded, "I will return this evening for an answer, please make your decision by then." The princess watched her leave, the girl with the purple eyes stared at her for a moment longer before slipping out after the she-elf.

* * *

Mariah paused beside Thorn, spotting Nasuada coming toward them. The ruby dragon snorted and turned his head toward her, shuffling his wing and hiding her beneath it. She thanked him silently as she listened to the leader of the Varden slip into Murtagh's tent. Glancing toward the tent, she saw a hole in the side and narrowed her eyes, watching the Rider stand fluidly at Nasuada's appearance.

"Good morning Murtagh."

"Nasuada," he inclined his head slightly, muttering, "Arya." His eyes glossed over Elva, but he switched his gaze back to the head of the Varden, waiting for her to speak.

She smiled vaguely at him, "I'm sure you know what I'm about to ask of you."

"And you know my answer," Murtagh said, shifting his weight, folding his arms. "Nasuada, I refuse to remain a prisoner."

"You must understand the position I am in."

"Of course, but you should also realize I am a Rider, and keeping me captive is extremely dangerous. I have cooperated with you so far, but I cannot promise you what you want of me. I refuse to fight for anyone but myself and those I deem worthy."

"And do you not think this a worthy cause?" Nasuada asked him.

Mariah watched Murtagh glance toward the wall. Their eyes met briefly through the tear in the fabric and his face twisted slightly. He sighed and turned back to Nasuada. "Defeating the Empire is a worthy cause, yes. However, you being unable to trust me unless oath bound will make me refuse."

"And if I agree to trust you without oaths? What then?"

He let out a hollow chuckle, "You would refuse."

"I know you. We have met before now, and you fought for us in Farthen Dûr. I have faith that had you not been captured by the Empire you would have remained with the Varden and continued to fight with us. I am sorry for everything that has happened to you these few short months."

Murtagh watched Arya's face twist with concern and he smiled cynically. "Even if you do trust me, no one would allow me to remain unguarded within your army."

"I am allowing Eragon to travel to Helgrind with his cousin Roran, Mariah has insisted upon going with him. I will be without a Rider these next few days. The only ones capable of protecting me from yourself or Kieran will be Mark, Kendra, Arya, and Elva. If you can prove to me and the Varden that you are qualified to help us without posing a threat, I will allow your assistance, without oaths." Nasuada brushed a wrinkle from her dress, meeting his gaze. "If not, then I truly am sorry for your fate."

"And during the time when Eragon is away?"

"I will allow you to go through camp, unbound, unescorted, and unguarded. My only request is that you refrain from leaving or engaging in any activity that would pose a threat to the Varden. If you can manage to do so, then I will leave it at that. If, however, you are deemed a threat, I will insist upon dispatching you."

Murtagh raised an eyebrow, "I don't think you realize what I am now capable of."

"Then the faith I placed in you was wrong, and I rightfully deserve the consequences of my risk. However, I believe the decision I have made is beneficial for everyone. Please come see me if you have need of anything. Arya, if you would." She bowed her head slightly to Murtagh, leaving with Elva.

After a moment of silence between them, Arya walked to him, releasing the binds around his wrist. "It would do well for you to remember that I am not bound to the Varden."

"Aye," Murtagh said to her, rubbing his wrists. "I understand your meaning, Arya. Thank you." She nodded before turning and walking after Nasuada. After a few minutes, to allow them some distance, he watched as Mariah slipped around the tent and inside, blinking at him. "Nice to know she's letting you run around on your own too."

"I've been with Mark all morning…" she admitted, walking to him. This was the first time she'd seen him since breaking her oath to him. Mariah tried for a smile, failing. "You look tired. Are you alright?"

"No," he admitted, sinking down onto the cot.

"But Nasuada just let you go…" she said, blinking at him.

"Yes, but that means little unless I fight for the Varden."

"I thought that's what you wanted. You seemed adamant before the battle, what with trying to find Kendra and get away from the Empire." She paused as he flinched, noticing a gold chain around his neck. "…you… what happened?" Mariah sank to the ground in front of him, setting a hand on his knee.

"Nothing." He sighed and looked over her face. "You look tired too…"

A vague smile reached her face, "Yes. I am. This has been difficult, and I'm sorry everything unfolded the way it did."

"You made good on your promise… that's enough. Thank you Mariah."

She nodded, taking his hand and squeezing slightly. Feelings that she once harbored toward him fluttered for half a moment before settling somewhere closer to the affection she held for Mark. In that moment, she realized that he had never been hers to keep. Confined to the city of Urû'baen, and held captive by Galbatorix had twisted her fondness for him, as an attempt to replace her feelings for the man who was, she now knew, his brother. It didn't seem so strange, she thought, that she had felt so drawn to him. Though they were not the same person, they shared many traits she admired in them both.

"I'm sorry."

"What are you sorry for?"

"Everything, from the moment we met you we have been nothing but trouble. We have caused you more suffering than I ever imagined. You should have let us die at the hands of the Ra'zac when you could."

"I do not regret meeting you, Mariah. And I am grateful knowing Kendra is alive, and that Eragon is my brother. Now that I have Thorn, I am glad he is a part of me. Yes, some horrible events have come about from our meeting, but none so terrible that I regret it, at least not yet."

"I still must apologize, for Kendra at least. If I had known your affections for her-"

"She will not have me, Mariah. So your apologies are for naught. Please, stop."

She watched him, surveying his face as he spoke. The breath in her lungs escaped her as though she had been punched in the stomach. "I'm sorry."

"I am now a Rider – which she hates more than most – and understand her reasoning."

"Are you alright?"

"I will be," he assured her. His eyes fell upon the bruise on her arm, then he looked back up at her questioningly.

She licked her lips and shook her head, "We spent far too much time together for you to notice so quickly."

"I do hope that is from the battle."

Mariah shook her head, "I tried to hit him."

"Hit him?" He gawked, raising his eyebrows. "Pray tell me."

The words felt like poison on her tongue, "He said I was a liar. And a traitor, and untrustworthy. Moreover, he claimed Mark and Brom were also, and I was far more outraged by those accusations than those toward myself."

"So you hit him?"

"Tried. He managed to stop my blow before I landed the blow."

The corner of Murtagh's mouth pulled into a smile, then a grin broke out. "I'm very proud of you. He deserved it, and should have accepted the blow full-force. I hope he lives out the remainder of his days with the guilt and the regret knowing he hurt you like that."

She sighed. "I didn't come here to talk about this anyway. It's about your sword; you'll need it, especially now that you're going to be running around camp."

"When did you have time to retrieve my sword?"

Mariah shook her hand, grasping his wrist and pulled him outside to Thorn. The dragon snorted and shifted his forepaw, revealing Zar'roc pressed firmly into the ground. "Excellent hiding spot, Thorn." She insisted, stroking the scales around his snout and picking up the blade. Mariah turned, presenting the sword within its sheath to Murtagh. "Wiol ono."

His mouth twisted slightly into a smile, taking it from her. "Thank you Mariah. You realize now, though, he is without a blade?"

"He has mine now. I thought it more important that you carried Zar'roc. It matches Thorn anyway."

"I am also the eldest, so by right of inheritance it would have gone to me, should have been mine a long time ago. I am glad your grandfather saw fit not to lose it." He tied the blade to his waist and then looked up at her. "So, did he take it well? Learning he was my brother?"

"I don't really know, it didn't come up while we were talking. There was much discussed yesterday, forgive me for not remembering."

"Then I will have to speak to him upon his return." He looked up at her, setting a hand on her shoulder. "Make sure you stay safe. I would hate to see something happen to you when I wasn't there to help. Alright? The Ra'zac are dangerous."

"Just because you saved us from them once, doesn't mean that I need you to save us again. We'll be fine," she assured him, spotting Mark wandering towards them through the camp.

Murtagh glanced over his shoulder at the man, scowling slightly.

"Oh, now what? You've barely spoken to him." Mariah asked bitterly, folding her arms.

Mark raised an eyebrow at the Riders. "Murtagh."

"…Mark."

"I've come to help Mariah plan out her little adventure… I heard Nasuada is allowing you to wander around unsupervised."

"I assure you I'll cause no trouble," he said, folding his arms.

"Just remember I'll be watching you the whole time."

Murtagh smirked, "If you're the only thing standing between me and freedom, I think I'd like my chances."

"Stop it, both of you," Mariah huffed. "Why can't you just be cordial toward one another? It's not as though you're rivals. We're all on the same side. Mark, you can't honestly still be angry with him, after everything? Murtagh is the one who kept me safe in Urû'baen. And Mark is my brother; you aren't allowed to hate him."

"Eragon is my brother, but you're allowed to hate him. I don't think that's very fair." Murtagh said curtly.

Mark barked out a laugh, "I'll have to give you that. He does have a point there. Quick to use his new brother as a defense."

Mariah scowled at them both. They were too alike sometimes, and it was unfathomable to her why they couldn't simply get along. "I will never understand it. Mark, let's go. I need to prepare for my trip tomorrow." She turned to Murtagh, wrapping him in a tight hug. _Thank you, for everything._

He blinked down at her and hugged her back, setting his cheek against her hair. _Please come back safe, Lady Dawnsinger._ Warmth and compassion filled the word, and for the first time, she felt her title as a form of affection instead of a torment. Murtagh kissed her forehead, dropping his arms from around her.

Mark was looking between them when she turned around, and didn't see the smug look on Murtagh's face as she stepped toward her bother.

"What was that?" He asked her, motioning back at Murtagh.

Mariah looked up at him innocently, "What do you mean Mark? I was telling Murtagh good-bye, since I'm leaving tomorrow morning." He narrowed his eyes at the Rider before taking his sister by the hand and leading her off through camp.

* * *

It was late afternoon, while gathering supplies and studying maps of the Empire with Saphira when Mariah had approached with Mark on her heels. She had cleaned the blood from her pale skin and ebon hair. The clothes she wore were likely something she had borrowed, as they didn't seem like items she would own. The pants were a dark brown, with soft leather boots and an armored corset. The sleeves were short, revealing a cut on her shoulder and a bruise forming around her forearm. She had watched him evenly for a moment before speaking. "When are we leaving?"

He glanced behind her at Mark, who had his arms folded across his chest. Eragon looked back to Mariah, "You're not going with."

"Yes, I am. I know the layout of the Empire better than you do, I've seen maps for the last three months; I know where the army's troops are located, and I know how to get us out of trouble if we do get caught. Besides, I already promised Roran that I would do whatever it took to get Katrina back. It was my fault it happened in the first place."

Eragon shook his head, looking back down at the map to ignore her. "No."

She slammed her hand down on the table, glaring at him. "I'm going. And the only way you're going to stop me is by killing me."

His face burned at the thought. "Two dragons are going to be spotted immediately; it'll be hard enough with just Saphira."

"I'm not bringing Andrar. He's staying here with Mark." He raised his eyebrows, surprised. From behind her, Mark was shaking his head. "You're right, it will be much too obvious if Andrar goes along. He's not happy about it, but if you leave, then Nasuada hasn't a single Rider here she trusts to help _if_ something happens. Kieran and Murtagh both have accepted her terms of capture for now, but she isn't going to trust them, not for a while at least. So, I'm leaving Mark here to help her, and Andrar to help him. And somehow it also helped settled Nasuada's mind on letting me go with you. I told her I would do my best to keep you safe, and if my dragon stays here, that's one less thing for her to worry about trying to kill you in case something goes wrong."

He looked up at Mark, _You aren't saying much right now._

 _She's made up her mind. I can't do anything to change it. Take her with you; she'll cause less trouble if she's with you than if you force her to stay here. She'll bother Nasuada to no end, or end up following you somehow anyway. I wouldn't put either past her._

Eragon's lip curled into an unsatisfied sneer and he turned his gaze back to Mariah. "I don't know if Saphira can carry three."

 _Nonsense. The hatchling does not weigh so much as you,_ the dragoness insisted, pushing him with her tail, forcing him to wobble. _I will be glad for some female companionship. There have been far too many men in our travels as of late._

"You're going to want to pack warmly, it gets cold in the mountains so high," Mariah had said brightly before turning and leaving with her brother.

* * *

"Mariah Dawnsinger." Her full name sounded like warm sunlight when he spoke. Reaching up, she brushed her fingers across his cheek and smiled. "It suits you my love."

She hummed, allowing him to pull her close to his chest. "I hated it, when Galbatorix gave me that title. But coming from your lips… it just sounds right."

"Will you call me Shadeslayer now, or am I still just Eragon?"

"I will call you Shadeslayer only when I'm upset with you, so that way you know," she wrinkled her nose teasingly up at him. "How's that?"

Eragon frowned, "That's not fair, I only earned that name by saving you. If anything, you should shout it atop your lungs whenever you need my help."

Letting out a quiet laugh she mused, "I'm afraid you would never hear me say it then, I can take care of myself you know."

"Aye, which is why you were captured and taken away. If you would have shouted for me, I would have been able to stop it…"

"We've gone over this Eragon," Mariah said quietly, "I blame no one for my capture. Please, you have done far more for me than I would ever ask of you love."

He pressed his lips against hers firmly, as if reassuring himself she was there. Smiling, she pulled away from him slightly. "I like it better here, when you're not cross with me. You call me pretty names and give me kisses instead of vile words and bruises."

"I never meant to hurt you darling," he insisted, running his hands up and down her arms, rubbing where her bruise would have been. "And I only said all that because I am scared to think about what could happen. I'm sorry I had to push you away. It's just… after everything." Mariah pressed her finger to his lips, quieting him. He kissed her hand. "I still love you, you know that…"

"I know…" she whispered. "I'm going with you, to prove that you can trust me. I want nothing more than that."

Eragon smiled down at her, "I would be happy to have you at my side forever my love. Thank you."

With another kiss, she blinked and he was gone. Rousing herself, she sat up, rubbing her eyes. Kendra was already gone. Her armor was sitting in the corner, newly repaired and polished. On the table was a small stack of clothes: a dark green tunic, and light breeches. She smiled and picked up the outfit, changing swiftly. Layering her clothes, she pulled the tunic on last, hoping to stay warm while flying through the mountains. Parting from the tent, she walked towards Nasuada's pavilion, hoping to find Mark and the others before leaving with Eragon, Saphira, and Roran.

Upon spotting her, Mark waved and walked to her. He smiled and unfurled the cloak in his hands; long and black with soft fur around the collar. She let him clasp it around her shoulders and watched his pleased expression. Mariah blinked and touched her fingers to the fur, realizing it was the fox fur he had gotten for her while they had been camped outside Dras Leona.

"You kept it," she said in amazement. "I thought you'd lost it."

"Of course not, just didn't get the chance to do anything with it until we were in Surda. I hope it keeps you warm." He smiled, kissing her forehead. "Now, you should all get going, you have a long journey ahead of you."

She smiled at Mark and nodded, hugging him tightly. "I'll be back in a few days."

"Stay safe," he muttered, pulling away.

Mariah turned to look toward Saphira, saddled and ready several yards away. In front of her stood Andrar, pressing his snout against her own. He pulled away, a deep rumble sounding in his chest. Saphira snapped toward him then shook her head. Looking toward his Rider, Andrar snorted, _Saphira will take care of you while I am unable to._

 _You know I would take you with me if I could,_ Mariah told him painfully.

He dipped his head, _I know. Just make sure that you return to me, or I shall find you. If I must fight Shruikan himself and fly across all of Alagaësia to do so, I will._ Andrar dug his claws in the ground, earning a concerned look from the dragoness beside him.

 _I will bring Saphira back to you, I promise._ She said, walking to him and hugging him around his neck. _And I hope there soon comes a day when you are no longer parted._

 _Soon there will be a day when none of us are parted,_ he agreed. _Don't do anything I would advise against while you're gone. And don't test him, your relationship is strained enough already. Forcing your feelings upon him will only make it worse my dear._

 _I know._ Mariah brushed her fingers across his snout and turned around.

Eragon was helping Roran into the saddle, tightening the straps around their legs. He straightened and caught her gaze, his jaw flexing before he looked straight. In Saphira's saddle bags Mariah could see his armor and Ancalë as well. She questioned for a moment whether she should be bringing her own armor, but decided it would be more of a hindrance than not. Taking a few quick steps forward, she leaped up and took hold of the back of Saphira's saddle, twisting and landing gently behind Roran.

"Dawnsinger!" She looked down at Mark as he threw a sheath up to her. "You're gonna need that."

Mariah smiled a bit at the blade in her hand, able to feel strong enchantments upon the sword. No doubt wards and spells her brother had ingrained in it to protect her. Tying it to her waist, she looked back down at her brother, nodding.

 _Hold tight little one,_ Saphira warned her, turning her head around to look at Mariah. The Rider braced her heeled boots against the largest of Saphira's back spikes and pushed her back to Roran's. In a few solid wing beats, the blue dragoness was above the camp site. Moments later she had brought them well out of sight.

* * *

With Love, As Always,

Mariah Dawnsinger


	3. Ch 83: Miracles

**Chapter Eighty-Three: Miracles**

"My Lady, please reconsider."

"No, I do not need _twelve_ guards watching my every action at all times, be reasonable."

"It's for your own safety!"

"It's four or nothing, Jörmundur." Nasuada said, glancing at Mark standing just behind Jörmundur. He was smiling in a way that beguiled her, as was always the case when he smiled, for she could never quite tell if he was smirking or grinning, or if emotion was truly showing on his face at all. "Yes, Marcus? Clearly you have a comment."

"I have a suggestion of six," he said, shifting his weight from his left foot to his right. "Two more than what you are suggesting for yourself, and half of what Jörmundur requests."

The man spun on his heel, looking at Mark. "Six isn't nearly enough to protect Nasuada! Ajihad was a great fighter, and he had soldiers with him, and yet he was still attacked and murdered."

"By someone with magic, if you don't recall, the Twins were the ones who murdered him. No sword killed Ajihad. And Nasuada is not her father. Six will be more than enough." Mark spoke plainly, folding his arms.

Jörmundur was reaching exasperation. "I insist!"

Nasuada waved at him slightly, sighing into her palm. "Can we be done with this? I don't need everyone to be afraid of me. If I have six armed guards at all times, people will cower in fear of my arrival."

"Young ones have no sense!" He threw his hands into the air. "I object, and you hear me on that."

"You have been heard," Nasuada insisted, a smile playing on her lips. "Six. I will agree to that. Stubborn old worrywart. Still too many."

Jörmundur paused and laughed at her, "Better a stubborn old worrywart than a foolhardy youngling dead before his time." He looked at Mark pointedly and excused himself from her presence.

Mark waited for him to be gone before sighing and pulling up a chair in front of Nasuada. "He is right you know; more guards would be better able to protect you."

"I have you, and Elva. And now Murtagh and Kieran, until Eragon and Mariah return what more could I need?"

He smiled at her, that fascinating expression causing her confusion again. "New guards every six hours, and six at every turn."

"That's ridiculous-"

"Ridiculous or not, your safety is our top priority."

"I need Urgals and Dwarven guards as well then. It would be best, to not show favoritism amongst those I lead. The Varden is now home to Urgals and Dwarves alike, not merely Humans."

"Aye, but that will cause much turmoil for your guard," Mark said, watching her.

"So be it, everyone needs to learn how to coexist if we are to succeed," she said.

Mark leaned back in his chair, "I'll see that it's done then. Your guard will be in place before morning tomorrow. Nasuada, as soon as you feeling up to it, I must insist you learn to be proficient with a weapon. And in the interim that you spend some time learning magic with myself, Angela, or Trianna. If nothing else, you should fully know how magic functions and how to best guard yourself from it."

"Guarding my mind is easy enough, that I have known how to do for quite some time."

"Yes, but everything else is probably still a bit of a mystery to you."

"Indeed," she admitted. "If you believe it to be beneficial, I will submit to lessons. Trianna would likely find it most amusing. Besides, I wouldn't want to take more of your time away from you Mark. You are invaluable."

He nodded once and stood gracefully. "M'lady." Mark's mouth tugged slightly at the corner before he turned to leave.

* * *

Watching the last blue sparkles of Saphira flying off into the morning sun, Murtagh sighed and pivoted on his heel. He laced his fingers behind his head, shrugging as he began striding back through the pavilions. _So much for saying good-bye this morning._

 _You knew they were leaving_ _before sunrise._

 _I didn't believe Eragon was going to allow her to go with him, not after what she said yesterday._ Murtagh admitted. _If he knew the whole truth, I don't believe he would have rejected her._ _How we were captured, and how she resisted at every turn until she realize there was nowhere_ _to go._

Thorn snorted, _Kendra knows the whole truth and she still rejected you._

 _That's different. She hates me for a dozen reasons. Eragon hates Mariah for one._

 _One is still enough, is it not?_

 _I suppose._ He agreed running his fingers through his hair. The sun had barely started to rise in the east and was still peeking through the mountains in the distance, throwing his shadow up onto the fabric of the tent beside him. _I feel naked without a sword. Magic is no substitute for a solid blade._

 _Then you should have never agreed with Nasuada's_ _arrangement._

 _I couldn't very well deny her; it was the only way out of my cell._ Murtagh groaned, spotting the one person he didn't want to see. He growled out a single syllable, "Mark."

"Ah, Murtagh, nice to see you up and around at such an early hour," he said, grinning. Mark placed a hand on his hip, raising an eyebrow at the Rider.

"I was going to see your sister off and wish her well on her trip, but she seems to have left already."

Mark narrowed his eyes, his smile dropping as he stepped closer to Murtagh. "I don't know everything that happened while you were missing, but I do know one thing…"

"And what's that?" Murtagh asked him, his lips fighting a sneer.

"You made me a promise, and you kept it."

He blinked at Mark's quiet tone. It took him half a minute to remember what he was referring to. "I wouldn't call what we went through _safe_."

Mark shook his head, "No, she is alive and whole. That is safe, Murtagh. Thank you. From what she's told me, you helped more than you'll admit."

"I became a Rider," he said. "That's not necessarily keeping her safe you know."

"But it helped her. You can use magic, and you used it to heal her. Thank you, Murtagh." Mark said, looking down at the ground, digging his heel into the dirt. "I don't enjoy being on this side of the conversation, but truly…"

"I understand, Mark. She is your sister after all."

He nodded sharply, flicking his hair out of his blue eyes as he stared at Murtagh. "And don't you forget it. If you try anything, I'll beat you into the ground."

Murtagh blinked, then a smile crept over his face. A burst of laughter erupted from his chest and he shook his head. "I couldn't even if I wanted to. You've seen the desperation first hand. I've only known you all for a few months, but I'm not blind. He's my brother now too you know."

"Wait…"

"I'm hoping as much as you are that when they get back they are no longer bitter enemies." He folded his arms across his chest, watching Mark.

"Even after everything?"

"Yes," he rolled his eyes. "I'm over my heartbreak. She was scared, and trapped, and I was of some comfort to her. And before you threaten me again, I'll have you know I did nothing to her."

After a moment Mark nodded, placated. "Did she tell you what happened then? The night she was captured?"

"She tried to smack him." Murtagh laughed, followed by Mark. "I told her he probably deserved it."

"Aye, that he did."

When they had their fill of laughter, Murtagh bit his lip and said, "Thank you for taking care of Kendra. It seems like you have spent a lot of time with her lately…"

"Indeed, the week we arrived in Surda she discovered my existence and recruited me to help her scheme. I was swayed quite easily into being her confidant."

"She has that effect on people." He admitted, "Do you know where she's gone off to? I can't seem to find her."

Mark nodded, "She left this morning on a scouting mission. I believe Rowan and Delaney went with her." At Murtagh's confused expression, he elaborated. "Ah, her spies – assassins - soldiers... members of Black Lightning."

"Ah," he nodded. "That's what she calls it. Then it looks like I'll have to find Kieran instead. She's the only person in this whole camp who isn't likely to try and kill me."

"You know, if you want them on your good side. And you want to prove to them that you're content working with the Varden, you should go around to the people and assist them with things they need. We are always short on healers, especially after a battle." Mark paused, "Sit with me tonight at supper, and I'll make sure all of the Varden sees you there." Murtagh raised an eyebrow at him as he turned to leave, waving slightly over his shoulder. "I'll see you later."

Murtagh continued on his way toward Kieran's pavilion, ducking his head in through the curtain, raising the fabrics with his arm, calling her name.

She looked up, tying off the last part of her hair with a blue ribbon. Beaming, she strode to him, throwing her arms around his neck. "Murtagh!" Releasing herself she looked him over and clasped her hands in front of herself. "You're looking better."

"As are you," he said slowly, observing her flowing blue cotton dress and plain shoes. "Does Nasreen not have any of your spare outfits in her saddlebags?"

"I thought I would blend in better dressed like this, yes?"

He covered his mouth, suppressing a chuckle. "I suppose, but you are still quite obviously Kieran. Wait, did you agree to Nasuada's terms then?" Murtagh lowered his hand, watching her.

"Yes. She is quite the amazing young lady, wouldn't you agree?"

"Indeed, much like yourself." He watched Kieran's face light up at his compliment before continuing. "Kendra's friend told me to go through camp and help out some of the soldiers in order to show everyone that I'm no longer siding with the Empire. Did you want to come along?"

She nodded vigorously and turned to take up her sword before hesitating. "No blades."

"No blades. And I'm quite sure that Du Vrangr Gata is going to be watching our every move." Murtagh held open the tent for her and followed her outside again. "Where did Nasreen fly off to?"

"Hunting. She thought it best not to eat the army's horses."

"A good plan."

They walked slowly through the campsite, trying to recall where they had seen one of the healer's tents. Soldiers circumvented them by several feet at their every turn, and neither could muster the degradation of asking any of them where they should seek out with what they were thinking. _Spies. Deceivers. Enemies. Traitors._ Every word sank into their skin like a cut, deeper with each comment.

It was about then the pair came across Arya. She paused in her stride, scanning the two of them rapidly. "Lost?" It was more of a statement, considering her scathing expression.

"Aye," Murtagh admitted to her, inclining his head to avoid her harsh gaze. "Mark suggested we assist healing the soldiers where we could."

"You may follow me, I shall lead you there." She observed the two of them again and turned, moving lithely ahead of them until the three came upon a large pavilion. The she-elf sidestepped and motioned for them to enter before striding off at a jogging clip.

Murtagh shrugged and pulled aside the doorway, entering with Kieran in his wake. Instantly the smell of death and decay filled his sinuses, forcing him to cough in disgust. A middle-aged woman paused and looked up, startled at their appearance, stammering, "S-silverhand."

"Lady Nasuada has sent us to assist you."

Her face was confused for a brief moment before she inclined her head, sighing with relief. "By the gods good graces, I am thankful for any help you may offer. Yes, come in, come in." She ushered them around the room. Kieran stayed beside a soldier with some more severe head injuries, rolling up the sleeves on her dress and setting to work. Before Murtagh to remark on the blood she was spattering on her hands, he was being shuffled off. Kneeling down in front of a man with a broken leg, he spoke quietly to set it.

Nearby wounded soldiers watched on where they could and murmured in amazement as the man stood. The soldier turned to Murtagh as he pulled out of his kneel and grasped his hand and forearm. "You are a miracle worker."

"Magic is no miracle," he assured him gently, shaking his hand with a grim smile. "I am glad that I am able to help."

"Miracle or no, you and the lady Rider are a gift. Thank you."

* * *

"Remind me again why we didn't take horses," Trevin groaned, looking towards Delaney. He lifted his arms over his head and stretched. Ahead of them were Kendra and Rowan leading six of their Black Lightning members in two short rows. On foot, they were making slow progress through the landscape of the southern Empire. "My feet are beginning to blister."

"During the battle, Lynette was killed? The dragoness clawed her." Delaney muttered, "I'm sure she's still a bit of a wreck about it."

"She surely isn't showing it," Trevin said. Padding alongside the princess was her black wolf, wearing his makeshift padded armor as he wove in and out of the bushes.

"You're the one always prattling on about how she always bottles it up. If she broke now over her horse of all things, what then?"

The archer flicked his red bangs out of his face, "She might finally convince everyone she's human after all. I'd forgotten about her horse, really, don't let me go on about it anymore. Blisters or no, I'd rather she wasn't upset with me." Delaney smirked a bit at him before focusing on their companions.

It was mid-day and they had been walking for two and a half days now, the Varden's encampment fading into the distance on the eve of their first night. The landscape was becoming more sandy with every step, which Rowan was pleased with because the lack of footprints trailing behind them. However, everyone else save Kendra was getting tired of slippery steps at every turn. While climbing a particularly steep ridge, Trevin's heel dropped and he lost his grip on the rock wall they were scaling. Delaney caught him by the forearm, grunting and hauling him up the remainder of the ledge.

"Watch your step archer." He flicked his brown hair out of his face and flexed the tendons in his hand.

"Thanks Del," Trevin said, brushing himself off and falling into step with the younger man. "How do you think Eirika's doing?"

He shrugged, "Probably fine. Worried about Rowan. Hasn't given me a second thought."

"Aww, such a shame your adorable little cousin fell for an assassin."

Delaney's brown eyes shifted to look at the archer. "At least it wasn't you."

"Hey now, I happen to be a great catch. I'm just..."

"Destined to be alone forever?"

"No, you bastard. I'm shy-" He nearly stumbled into Rowan as the man stopped their march. His blue-gray eyes swiveled between the two of them.

"Are you two trying to let the whole Empire know where we are?"

"We haven't seen anyone in hours, Ro." The archer sighed, folding his arms. "We were bored, sorry."

Rowan looked at Delaney, "You two shouldn't be arguing regardless, there's enough fighting going on right now without it. Let's keep moving." He turned and organized the line into single file as they started down into a gulch. Once he'd reached the head of the column, he started forward, adjusting his sword on his back.

Following, Trevin stepped after Delaney until a shadow flickered over them. He glanced up at the afternoon sun and watched Kendra along the edge of the cliff overhead, striding with Nyx. They were silhouetted against the blue sky, the sunlight casting a halo of light around them. The wind must have been stronger above, because just about then her hair rippled and flew over her shoulder.

"If she's spotted, we'll be able to ambush any of the soldiers that try to get to her." Delaney mused, a smile touching his lips. "Clever."

"If she's spotted, we won't get to see any of the fighting, for she'll have dispatched them all before you make it to the top of the cliffside."

"At least I'm capable of murdering someone from less than twenty feet away."

"Ah, but I'll be more useful if they do attack us now, I can shoot them from down here without having to climb." He ducked as an arrow with black feathers whipped past his face. Trevin looked up and saw Kendra with her bow out.

The princess's voice popped into their heads as she shouldered her bow. _Your voice is carrying up all the way to the top of these rocks, keep it down._

With a sigh, Trevin picked up her arrow and placed it in his quiver with the white fletched arrows. Waving the rest of them on, he saluted up to Kendra, showing he had heard her. She nodded once and disappeared beyond the top of the ridge.

* * *

When it grew dark, and Murtagh was leaving the pavilion, Kieran insisted upon staying late into the night without the slightest bit of weariness in her bright eyes. She had worked her way through most of the soldiers in the unit, and was determined to assist them all before departing. During the daylight hours, she had received several kisses and marriage proposals from men who thought their days had all been lived. Without the slightest blush, she denied them and shoed them off back to their friends and families before turning to the next soldier.

He could not deny her sudden resolution to help those in need. Her entire life had been spent hurting others, the least she could do would be start her repentance here. So, Murtagh left her and headed back toward his tent.

 _Are you not forgetting something?_

 _I'm afraid my body is too tired and my mind to addled_ _to remember what I am forgetting._ Even his thoughts were bitter this late.

 _You must be hungry, and you did agree to meet with Mark, did you not?_

 _Ah, yes. I should at least clean the blood from under my nails before I seek him out._

Thorn rumbled his approval with an echo through Murtagh's tired mind. He found his tent and quickly filled his wash basin, cleaning his hands and face free of dirt and blood. To his surprise, on his cot was a fresh pair of breeches and a tunic. A small piece of parchment with scrolling letters sat on top. _Don't thank me._

He scoffed and set the paper aflame, changing. Thorn shifted his wings and rolled his head to look at his Rider as he left for supper. _I suppose I should go hunting as well._

 _I'm afraid you won't be fed inside the camp, and I can't go with you, Nasuada would have my head for sure._

 _Then while you are dining, so shall I._ Thorn rose to his feet, yawning widely. He flicked his wings and charged into the air with a few heavy beats, throwing a gale around Murtagh, whipping his hair back. _Be kind to Mark, you know Mariah and Kendra would both beat you if you were rude._

 _I don't need a reminder, thank you Thorn._ Murtagh insisted, turning and striding off to find the mess hall. After a quarter hour of wandering through the campsite, he came across the large dining area. At the back of the pavilion was a large table, clearly dressed for Nasuada and her personal guard. There, sitting alone was Mark, pouring over a book with a full plate being ignored beside him.

There would be no making it to the man without displaying himself to every soldier and civilian in the immediate area. So, he sighed and wound himself through the tables, ignoring the cruel staring and suspicious glances his way. Stopping finally beside Mark, he set a hand on the table, "You're going to starve yourself then? Is that how you die?"

"Of course not," Mark muttered. "Food and drink are a necessary distraction needed for survival, if I could live without them I would gladly give up the time devoted to preparing and consuming both. However, as there is no avoidance, I might as well eat in the company of others in order to gain. Sit."

Murtagh pulled a chair out and dropped into it, ignoring the murmurs behind him. "Your plan seems to be backfiring."

Waving his hand, Mark said, "They're just unsettled at your appearance. It will take time, regardless of whether you turn yourself into a hermit or sit here with me, the latter will take less time. Word will spread quickly you're in my good graces, and in turn Nasuada's. Now eat." Mark slid the plate over to Murtagh and turned a page in his book. "I've already heard about you wonderful exploits in the healer's tent today."

"More Kieran's doing than my own. She is still there as far as I know." The Rider mused, prodding at the food Mark had procured for him, questioning for a moment as to why he hadn't simply waited for Murtagh to gather it himself. Another quick glance around the pavilion settled a chill in his spine, and he looked at Mark with a quick realization.

"No one would dare poison me, and even if they did, I would have detected it by now. You're fine. Eat. Kieran seems to be taking well to Nasuada's terms. From how Kendra described her, I will admit I am quite surprised."

Murtagh shrugged, his mouth full now that he was certain he would survive his supper. Swallowing, he cleared his throat and said, "I believe she is trying to repent."

"She has a very long way to go from what I know then. But if that is indeed her goal, then I have no qualms about it. She can wear herself out completely if it saves more of the Varden's troops."

"Do you know where Kendra went on her scouting mission?" Murtagh asked after a few minutes of silence.

Looking back up from his book, Mark surveyed the Rider with a dubious expression, assuming he had been wondering about her all day, before answering plainly. "She went looking for stray groups of the king's soldiers. After the battle, they scattered. With no generals to lead their retreat, well... I have no doubt handfuls of them will turn rogue."

"Many of them swore allegiance to the king."

"And many more of them didn't. Regardless, that's where she went. Why do you ask?"

Murtagh settled his teeth together, frowning for a moment before letting out a sigh. Resigning, he admitted, "I had hoped to talk with her today."

"Ah, well I sincerely doubt she wants to talk to you right now."

"You would know that how?" Murtagh squinted at the man across from him.

"She told me," he said. "She also asked me not to tell you where she'd gone off to."

"But you just did."

Mark shook his head, "I told you _what_ she'd gone off to do. Not _where_. There's a distinct difference you see."

Exhausted already from the spells he'd expended through the day, Murtagh was in no mood to argue with him. "It's no wonder you've snaked your way to the head of the Varden, if you are so clearly capable of betraying those close to you."

"I betrayed no one, and neither did you. Are you finished then?" Murtagh blinked and looked down at his empty plate, sighing. He was still quite hungry but not about to complain. He nodded and stood with Mark, walking out of the pavilion shoulder-to-shoulder with him. They walked in stride for several minutes in the fading light when Mark spoke. "I will say something to her when she gets back from her mission. Her feeling betrayed is folly - even I know that. Regardless of her feelings toward Riders as a whole, you are still her friend and she should be wise enough to realize that. If you need anything from me, you know where to find me." He inclined his head to Murtagh and turned, striding off to find Nasuada.

Walking back to his tent alone in the twilight, Murtagh mulled over Mark's suggestion. He didn't quite know what he should be expecting out of the other man. It was clear that he always held his own best interests in mind, and Murtagh wasn't about to put stock into what he was saying until he followed through. Besides, from what he could tell Kendra would much rather spend her time in Mark's company than his own. The mere thought of Mark accompanying her the past few months disturbed him.

Ahead, he saw Andrar and Thorn peering into his tent curiously. At the entryway to his quarters Murtagh halted at a chirping noise and blinked, trying to recall where he'd heard it before. He pushed into his tent and stared at broken shards of what looked to be green and black glass. On the ground, in front of Zar'roc, were two tiny dragon hatchlings wrestling with each other, playfully nipping. At his appearance, they straightened themselves and warbled louder, pouncing toward him. On the ground in front of him, the petite green hatchling cawed and cried until he finally crouched down to it. Its eyes were bright orange-yellow as it chattered up at him. The black one clawed its way up his pant leg and wrapped itself around his shoulder, squawking into his ear. He reached up and snatched the hatching from his shoulder, feeling a burning sensation on his left palm.

"Ack!" Murtagh glanced down at his hand, the dragon shifting to his other shoulder with a shriek. His silver palm was glowing white hot, and finally faded after nearly a minute. He glanced over toward his saddlebags – the ones that had been hiding his Eldunarí - and realized they were missing. In turn, the remnants of the eggs that were scattered in front of him were the same color they had been. Immediately a suggestion as to what had happened formed in his mind, causing him to unconsciously mutter, "Mariah... what did you do?"

 _This is very dangerous indeed._ Andrar snorted, digging his claws into the ground, glancing toward Thorn.

 _I thought that they would only hatch for their Rider, I am certainly not going to be responsible for two more dragons._ Murtagh said, wincing as the dark one nipped him.

 _Their Riders must be here in the Varden. They must have felt their presence strong enough to hatch now. Until we can find their Riders however, we can't leave them alone._ Thorn said, rumbling in his chest.

 _What am I supposed to do with them? How about you two watch them while I go find Mark?_

 _They seem quite content with harassing you, little one,_ Thorn mused.

Murtagh groaned as the green one curled up inside one of the saddle bags. The dark one clawed its way back down his leg and settled in beside it. _Good. I'm going to sleep, perhaps this is just all a horrible dream and when I wake up they'll be back inside their little eggs._ He stormed over to his cot and flopped down, closing his eyes, passing out quickly.

* * *

With Love, As Always,

Mariah Dawnsinger


	4. Ch 84: Hollow

**Chapter Eighty-Four: Hollow**

Sitting with her back braced against Roran's, Mariah sat watching Saphira's tail whip behind them like ribbon in the wind. They flew nonstop until the sun had traversed the dome of the sky and extinguished itself behind the horizon and then burst forth again with a glorious conflagration of reds and yellows.

The first leg of their journey carried them toward the edge of the Empire, which few people inhabited. There they turned west toward Dras-Leona and Helgrind. From then on, they traveled at night to avoid notice by anyone in the many small villages scattered across the grasslands that lay between them and their destination.

As Mariah had said, they had to swathe themselves in cloaks and furs and wool mittens and felted hats, for Saphira chose to fly higher than the icebound peaks of most mountains – where the air was thin and dry and stabbed at their lungs – so that if a farmer tending a sick calf in the field or a sharp-eyed watchman making his rounds should happen to look up as she passed overhead, Saphira would appear no larger than an eagle.

Everywhere they went, Eragon saw evidence of the war that was now afoot: camps of soldiers, wagons full of supplies gathered into a bunch for the night, and lines of men with iron collars being led from their homes to fight on Galbatorix's behalf. Mariah helped escort them around the most populated checkpoints that the Empire's army had set up, allowing them to maneuver through with little resistance. The amount of resources deployed against them was daunting indeed. There was no sight of dragons on the horizon, much to their relief.

Near the end of the second night, Helgrind had appeared in the distance: a mass of splintered columns, vague and ominous in the ashen light that precedes dawn. Saphira had landed in the hollow where they were now, and they had slept through most of the past day before beginning their reconnaissance. Mariah remained with Saphira while Eragon and Roran had scouted ahead.

Now, the low mound of coals throbbed like the heart of some giant beast. Occasionally, a patch of gold sparks flared into existence and raced across the surface of the wood before vanishing into a white-hot crevice. The dying remnants of the fire they had built cast a dim red light over the surrounding area, revealing a patch of rocky soil, a few pewter-gray bushes, the indistinct mass of a juniper tree farther off, then nothing.

Eragon sat with his bare feet extended toward the nest of ruby embers – enjoying the warmth – and with his back propped against the knobby scales of Saphira's thick right foreleg. Opposite him, Roran was perched on the iron-hard, sun-bleached, wind-worn shell of an ancient tree trunk. Every time he moved, the trunk produced a bitter shriek that made Eragon want to claw at his ears. Mariah threw him an empathetic smile as she prodded at the dying flames with a charred stick. She stretched and settled herself back down against the rock wall behind her.

For the moment, quiet reigned within the hollow. Even the coals smoldered in silence; Roran had collected only long-dead branches devoid of moisture to eliminate any smoke that unfriendly eyes might spot.

Eragon had just finished recounting the day's activities to Saphira. Normally, he never had to tell her what he had been doing, as thoughts, feelings, and other sensations flowed between them as easily as water from one side of a lake to another. But in this instance it was necessary because Eragon had kept his mind carefully shielded during the scouting expedition.

After a considerable gap in the conversation, Saphira yawned, exposing her rows of many fearsome teeth. _Cruel and evil they may be, but I am impressed that the Ra'zac can bewitch their prey into wanting to be eaten. They are great hunters to do that… Perhaps I shall attempt it someday._

 _But not, Eragon felt compelled to add, with people. Try it with sheep instead._

 _People, sheep: what difference is there to a dragon?_ Then she laughed deep in her long throat – a rolling rumble that reminded him of thunder.

A fountain of amber motes billowed and swirled as Roran tossed a branch onto the disintegrating coals. He caught Eragon's look and shrugged. "Cold," he said.

Mariah whispered a quiet spell to keep Roran warmer, pulling her cape around her shoulders tighter, brushing her cheeks with the soft fur. There was a slithering scraping sound akin to someone drawing a sword. She watched as Eragon flung himself in the opposite direction, rolled once and came up into a crouch, lifting his sword to deflect an oncoming blow. Roran was nearly as fast. He grabbed his shield from the ground, scrambled back from the log he had been sitting on, and drew his hammer from his belt, all in the span of a few seconds. The boys froze, waiting for the attack. Mariah's sharp eyes pinpointed the location of the noise and she stretched out mentally, with the intent of killing them before they got to Roran or Eragon.

 _I smell nothing,_ said Saphira.

Mariah let out a breath quietly, raised an eyebrow at the two of them, shaking her head. "Sit down," she insisted, fighting the tremor in her voice. "Anyone capable of killing either of you would not draw their sword so close that you could hear… or they would mute the sound of the blade being drawn. Nothing is coming for you in the dark save the Ra'zac. And they will not know we're coming."

Eragon shot her a glare and uttered the words "Brisingr raudhr!" A pale red werelight popped into existence several feet in front of him and remained there, floating at eye level and painting the hollow with a watery radiance. He moved slightly, and the werelight mimicked his motion, as if connected to him by an invisible pole.

Together, he and Roran advanced toward where they'd heard the sound, down the gulch that wound eastward. They held their weapons high and paused between each step, ready to defend themselves at any moment. About ten yards from their camp, Roran held up a hand, stopping Eragon, then pointed at a plate of shale that lay on top of the grass. It appeared conspicuously out of place. Kneeling, Roran rubbed a smaller fragment of shale across the plate and created the same steely scrape they had heard before.

Looking at Saphira, Mariah sighed and scooted closer to the flames, warming her face and slender hands. "Its days like this when I wish I was a man and could grow a beard; my face gets so cold sometimes." She smiled as the dragoness snorted a laugh, which made her grin broader yet. "It does. Though scarves and furs are very helpful, it would be convenient not to ever have to take it off."

"Are your nerves not set on edge, Mariah?" Roran asked as they returned. "You didn't even move."

She shook her head, "Galbatorix has louder footsteps, and would not be so foolish to draw a blade against an enemy he can kill with words. Any one of the others, I would not be scared to fight against, for they are untrained. Though unpredictable, I believe I would be able to best them. Most of my true enemies are in my head."

"Do you see them?"

"Who?" Eragon asked.

"The men you've killed. Do you see them in your dreams?" Roran turned his gaze at his cousin.

"Sometimes."

The pulsing glow from the coals lit Roran's face from below, forming thick shadows above his mouth and across his forehead and giving his heavy, half-lidded eyes a baleful aspect. He spoke slowly, as if he found the words difficult. "I never wanted to be a warrior. I dreamed of blood and glory when I was younger, as every boy does, but the land was what was important to me. That and our family… And now I have killed… I have killed and killed, and you have killed even more." His gaze focused on some distant place only he could see. "There were these two men in Narda… Did I tell you this before?"

He had told them at least once so far on their journey, but Mariah shook her head despite the fact, tipping her head to listen. Talking about the past was one way to cope with it, and seemed to be the best way for Roran.

"They were guards at the main gate… Two of them, you know, and the man on the right, he had pure white hair. I remember because he couldn't have been more than twenty-four, twenty-five. They wore Galbatorix's sigil, but spoke as if they were from Narda. They weren't professional soldiers. They were probably just men who had decided to help protect their homes from Urgals, pirates, brigands… We weren't going to lift a finger against them. I swear to you, that was never part of our plan. I had no choice though. They recognized me. I stabbed the white-haired man underneath his chin… It was like when Father cut the throat of a pig. And then the other, I smashed open his skull. I can still feel his bones giving way… I remember every blow I've landed, from the soldiers in Carvahall, to the ones on the Burning Plains… You know, when I close my eyes, sometimes I can't sleep because the light from the fire we set in the docks of Terim is so bright in my mind. I think I'm going mad then."

Mariah stood and walked to Roran, setting her hand on his forearm. "I envy you Roran, for being able to remember them all. I've lost count of the lives I've taken by my blade. My hands are stained red with the blood of every person I've slain."

Behind her, Eragon found his hands gripping the sword with such force, his knuckles were white and tendons ridged the insides of his wrists. "Aye," he said. "At first it was just Urgals, then it was men and Urgals, and now this last battle… I know what we do is right, but right doesn't mean easy. Because of who we are, the Varden expect Saphira and me to stand at the front of their army and to slaughter entire battalions of soldiers. We do. We have." His voice caught and he fell silent.

"Sometimes taking life from another is one step closer to destroying Galbatorix." Mariah looked between them, then at Saphira, as she seemed to be the only one still listening. "The world forces us to act. It pits us against foes that we must conquer or be conquered by, and we are victorious because we have the most to lose. We must sacrifice part of ourselves to triumph."

 _Turmoil accompanies every great change_ , said Saphira. _And we have experienced more than our share, for we are agents of that very change. I am a dragon, and I do not regret the deaths of those who endanger us. Killing the guards in Narda may not be a deed worthy of celebration, but neither is it one to feel guilty about. You had to do it. When you must fight, Roran, does not the fierce joy of combat lend wings to your feet? Do you not know the pleasure of pitting yourself against a worthy opponent and the satisfaction of seeing the bodies of your enemies piled before you? Eragon, you have experienced this. Help me explain it to your cousin._

Mariah watched Saphira for a moment and then took pity upon her human companions. They didn't want to admit it, because admitting that they enjoyed the rush of battle would be vile and would make them no better than their enemies. Having been on both sides of the conflict, she had already admitted this to herself, and so said, "I reveled in the rush of battle, Saphira. I was conditioned to savor the feel of victory. Being able to master your opponent, no matter how difficult the foe. Many strong men have fought against me, yet here I stand. Survival is the only thing that matters in battle. A foe standing in your way is cut down so you continue to survive, again and again. I know the feeling well now, yes, though I do not love that I know."

Rising to his feet, Eragon walked to their saddlebags and retrieved the small earthenware jar Orik had given him before they parted, then poured two large mouthfuls of raspberry mead down his gullet. Warmth bloomed in his stomach. Grimacing, Eragon passed the jar to Roran, who also partook of the concoction. Mariah watched them, shaking her head at the smell of the mead, watching as the liquor tempered their black mood. She sat beside Saphira, stroking the scales along her snout, missing Andrar with every bump of her fingers against the dragoness.

"We may have a problem tomorrow," Eragon finally said.

Roran blinked, "What do you mean?"

"Remember how I said that we – Saphira and I – could easily handle the Ra'zac?"

"Aye."

 _And so we can_ , said Saphira, humming under Mariah's touch.

"Well, I was thinking about it while we spied on Helgrind, and I'm not so sure anymore. There are almost infinite number of ways to do something magic. For example, if I want to light a fire, I could light it with heat gathered from the air or the ground; I could create a flame out of pure energy; I could summon a bolt of lightning; I could concentrate a raft of sunbeams into a single point; I could use friction; and so forth." A smile touched Mariah's lips as her rambled on, his training in Ellesméra had taught him much, but she was more impressed by what he had retained.

"So?"

"The problem is, even though I can devise numerous spells to perform this action, blocking those spells might require but a single counterspell. If you prevent the action itself from taking place, then you don't have to tailor your counterspell to address the unique properties of each individual spell."

"I still don't understand what this has to do with tomorrow," Roran said, watching him.

 _I do,_ said Saphira. She had immediately grasped the implications. _It means that, over the past century, Galbatorix-_

"-may have placed wards around the Ra'zac-"

 _-that will protect them against-_

"-a whole range of spells. I probably won't-"

 _-be able to kill them with any-_

"-of the words of death I was taught, nor any-"

 _-attacks that we can invent now or then. We may-_

"-have to rely-"

"Stop!" exclaimed Roran. Mariah let out a laugh. He gave a pained expression. "Stop, please. My head hurts when you do that."

Eragon paused with his mouth open; until that moment, he had been unaware that he and Saphira were speaking in turn. The knowledge pleased him: it signified that they had achieved new heights of cooperation and were acting together as a single entity – which made them far more powerful than either would be on their own. It also troubled him when he contemplated how such a partnership must, by its very nature, reduce the individuality of those involved.

He closed his mouth and chuckled. "Sorry. What I'm worried about is this: if Galbatorix has had the foresight to take certain precautions, then force of arms may be the only means by which we can slay the Ra'zac. If that's true-"

"I'll just be in your way tomorrow."

"Roran, he's not saying that. What he is saying about the wards, however, yes, that much is certain. The Ra'zac cannot be defeated by magic alone, else they would be long dead. Unfortunately for us I don't know exactly what the extents of the Ra'zac's wards are." Mariah paused, "However, I do know there are many, though they will likely be vulnerable to physical damage, since few would be able to get so close to kill them. Galbatorix wouldn't have bothered with any spells denying them physical harm."

Eragon nodded, "You may be slower than the Ra'zac, but I have no doubt you'll give them cause to fear your weapon, Roran Stronghammer." The compliment seemed to please Roran. "The greatest danger for you is that the Ra'zac or the Letherblaka will manage to separate you from Saphira and me."

"I'm not letting you get more than five feet from me," Mariah insisted, grinning at him. "You'll be fine Roran."

He looked over at her grin and sighed, "I shouldn't have to feel protected by a fifteen year old girl."

"I'm almost sixteen, don't you forget that now." She said, standing up and brushing her hands free of dirt. She flicked her hair back and put a hand on her hip, shooting Roran a mocking glare.

"Aye, nearly sixteen then. You know, this magic is tricky business," Roran said. The log he sat on gave a drawn-out groan as he rested his elbows on his knees. "Makes everything more difficult."

"It is," Eragon agreed. "The hardest part is trying to anticipate every possible spell; I spend most of my time asking how I can protect myself if I'm attacked like this and would another magician expect me to do that."

"Could you make me as strong and fast as you are?"

Mariah stretched, looking between the two boys as Eragon considered his response. She awaited his answer, curious as to what he would say. "I don't see how. The energy needed to do that would have to come from somewhere. Saphira and I could give it to you, but then we would lose as much speed or strength as you gained."

"Equivalency is the word," she said. "What is given must be taken from somewhere or someone. If you were a magician Roran, you could store energy in a jewel you bore and then draw from it when needed."

Roran looked at his cousin, "Can you teach me to use magic?" When Eragon hesitated, Roran added, "Not now, of course. We don't have the time, and I don't expect one can become a magician overnight anyway. But in general, why not? You and I are cousins. We share much the same blood. And it would be a valuable skill to have."

"I'm sorry Roran," Mariah said sympathetically. "It is a very arduous process, and even then I don't know if you have magic enough in your blood to use it. We have Rider's blood in our veins that allow us to wield the gramarye without much difficulty."

"But Mark can."

"He is my brother, and as much Rider's blood runs in his veins as in my own, it's not strange for him to be capable of wielding magic."

Not wanting his cousin to look so defeated, Eragon quickly plucked a flat, round stone from the ground and tossed it to Roran, who caught it backhand. "Here, try this: concentrate on lifting the rock a foot or so into the air and say, 'Stenr rïsa.'"

"Stenr rïsa?"

"Exactly."

Roran frowned at the stone resting on his palm in a pose so reminiscent of Eragon's own training that Eragon could not help feeling a flash of nostalgia for the days he spent being drilled by Brom. Roran's eyebrows met, his lips tightened into a snarl, and he growled, "Stenr rïsa!" with enough intensity, Eragon half expected the stone to fly out of sight.

Nothing happened.

Scowling even harder, Roran repeated his command: "Stenr rïsa!"

The stone exhibited a profound lack of movement.

"Well," said Eragon, "keep trying. That's the only advice I can give you. But" – and here he raised a finger – "if you should happen to succeed, make sure you immediately come to me or, if I'm not around, another magician. You could kill yourself and others if you start experimenting with magic without understanding the rules. If nothing else, remember this: if you cast a spell that requires too much energy, you will die. Don't take on projects that are beyond your abilities, don't try to bring back the dead, and don't try to unmake anything."

Roran nodded, still looking at the stone.

"When we get back with Katrina, you can go talk to Mark, I'm sure he'll be happy to help you out." Mariah nodded once and then paused, narrowing her eyes at Roran. "Is that the first time anyone has talked to you about magic?"

"Yes," he admitted. "You're the only ones I know who can use it."

Eragon started, "I just realized there's something important that you need to learn. Tonight."

"Oh?"

"Yes, you need to be able to hide your thoughts from the Black Hand, Du Vrangr Gata, and others like them. You know a lot of things now that could harm the Varden. It's crucial, then, that you master this skill as soon as we return. Until you can defend yourself from spies, neither Nasuada nor I nor anyone else can trust you with information that might help our enemies."

"I understand. But why did you include Du Vrangr Gata in that list? They serve you and Nasuada."

"They do, but even among our allies there are more than a few people who would give their right arm" – he grimaced at the appropriateness of the phrase – "to ferret out our plans and secrets. And yours too, no less. You have become a somebody, Roran. Partly because of your deeds, and party because we are related."

"I know. It is strange to be recognized by those you have not met."

Eragon nodded, "Now that you know what it feels like when one mind touched another, you might be able to learn to reach out and touch other minds in turn."

Sighing, Mariah shook her head, "I was hoping for some respite, but if this is your plan for the night, I'm turning in. Wake me when it's time for me to stay up and take watch. I promise I'll wake you both at the sound of scraping rocks…" She took a blanket from Saphira's saddle and disappeared around the far side of the dragoness underneath her wing. Saphira hummed and nuzzled Mariah for a moment before she too rested her head and closed her eyes.

"I'm not sure that is an ability I want to have." Roran admitted, looking back to his cousin.

"No matter; you also might not be able to do it. Either way, before you spend time finding out, you should first devote yourself to the art of defense."

He cocked an eyebrow. "How?"

"Choose something – a sound, an image, an emotion, anything – and let it swell within your mind until it blots out any other thoughts."

"That's all?"

"It's not as easy as you think. Go on; take a stab at it. When you're ready, let me know, and I'll see how well you've done."

Several moments passed. Then, at a flick of Roran's fingers, Eragon launched his consciousness toward his cousin, eager to discover what he had accomplished.

The full strength of Eragon's mental ray rammed into a wall composed of Roran's memories of Katrina and was stopped. He could take no ground, find no entrance or purchase, nor undermine the impenetrable barrier that stood before him. At that instant, Roran's entire identity was based upon his feelings for Katrina; his defenses exceeded any Eragon had previously encountered, for Roran's mind was devoid of anything else Eragon could grasp hold of and use to gain control over his cousin.

Then Roran shifted his left leg and the wood underneath released a harsh squeal.

With that, the wall Eragon had hurled himself against fractured into dozens of pieces as a host of competing thoughts distracted Roran: _What was… Blast! Don't pay attention to it; he'll break through. Katrina, remember Katrina. Ignore Eragon. The night she agreed to marry me, the smell of the grass and her hair… Is that him? No! Focus! Don't-_

Taking advantage of Roran's confusion, Eragon rushed forward and, by the force of his will, immobilized Roran before he could shield himself again.

You understand the basic concept, said Eragon, then withdrew from Roran's mind and said out loud, "but you have to learn to maintain your concentration even when you're in the middle of a battle. You must learn to think without thinking… to empty yourself of all hopes and worries, save that one idea that is your armor. Something the elves taught me, which I have found helpful, is to recite a riddle or a piece of a poem or song. Having an action that you can repeat over and over again makes it much easier to keep your mind from straying."

"I'll work on it," promised Roran.

In a quiet voice, Eragon said, "You really love her, don't you?" It was more of a statement of truth and wonder than a question – the answer being self-evident – and one he felt uncertain making. Romance was not a topic Eragon had broached with his cousin before, notwithstanding the many hours they had devoted in years past to debating the relative merits of the young woman in and around Carvahall. He brushed aside the ardent thoughts bubbling to the back of his mind. "How did it happen?"

"I liked her. She liked me. What importance are the details?"

"Come now," said Eragon. "I was too angry to ask before you left for Therinsford, and we have not seen each other again until just four days ago. I'm curious."

The skin around Roran's eyes pulled and wrinkled as he rubbed his temples. "There's not much to tell. I've always been partial to her. It meant little before I was a man, but after my rites of passage, I began to wonder whom I would marry and whom I wanted to become the mother of my children. During one of our visits to Carvahall, I saw Katrina stop by the side of Loring's house to pick a moss rose growing in the shade of the eaves. She smiled as she looked at the flower… It was such a tender smile, and so happy, I decided right then that I wanted to make her smile like that again and again and that I wanted to look at that smile until the day I died." Tears gleamed in Roran's eyes, but they did not fall, and a second later, he blinked and they vanished. "I fear I have failed in that regard."

After a respectful pause, Eragon said, "You courted her, then? Aside from using me to ferry compliments to Katrina, how else did you proceed?"

"You ask like one who seeks instruction." He said, hiding his smirk.

"I did not. You're imagining-"

"Come now, yourself," said Roran. "I know when you're lying. You get that big foolish grin, and your ears turn red. The elves may have given you a new face, but that part of you hasn't changed. What is it that exists between you… and Arya?"

"Nothing!" He said, before the name had registered, "The moon has addled your brain." Eragon hesitated. No, Roran had definitely said Arya.

Roran frowned, perhaps an admission from his cousin would be harder than he anticipated. "Be honest. Your gaze lingers upon her. And you dote upon her words as if each one were a diamond."

"Arya is an elf."

"And very beautiful." Roran hinted, "Black hair, green eyes."

"Arya is over a hundred years old."

That particular piece of information caught Roran by surprise; his eyebrows went up, and he said, "I find that hard to believe! She's in the prime of her youth."

"It's true." He kept his answers short, guarded.

"Well, be that as it may, these are reasons you give me, Eragon, and the heart rarely listens to reason. Do you fancy her or not?" At his cousin's hesitation, Roran asked again. "How do things stand between you two? Did you speak to her?"

"Aye."

Eragon's answer surprised him – he had not truly believed his cousin to have pursued the she-elf. "To what end?" When Eragon did not immediately reply, Roran uttered a frustrated exclamation. "Getting answers out of you is harder than dragging Birka through the mud." Eragon chuckled at the mention of Birka, one of their draft horses. "Saphira, will you solve his puzzle for me? Otherwise, I fear I'll never get a full explanation."

"To no end. No end at all. She'll not have me." Eragon spoke dispassionately, as if commenting on a stranger's misfortune.

"I'm sorry," said Roran honestly.

"It happens."

Roran shook his head, disappointed in Eragon. Leaning forward, he spoke quietly, "I can't believe you. You've been away for months, and Mariah's been with you for most of it. You pursued Arya? I know you two are friends, and have been for as long as I can remember, I imagine you wouldn't want to ruin that with romance, but come now. The two of you are inseparable."

A plume of dark gray smoke erupted from Saphira's nostrils. Eragon ignored her and said with strained vocals, "She has been with the Empire for the past three months. And I have trained in Ellesméra just as long. After the battle in Farthen Dûr I had been convinced she was dead. And now…"

He watched the Rider's expression for a moment, realizing his plight. "I'm sure you will meet another woman who will make you forget this. There are countless maids – and more than a few married women, I'd wager – who would be delighted to catch the eye of a Rider. You'll have no trouble finding a wife among all the lovelies in Alagaësia."

"And what would you have done if you were not able to pursue Katrina?"

The question struck Roran dumb; it was obvious he could not imagine how he might have reacted. He still felt the sting of her capture, and could not imagine hearing that she was dead.

"Contrary to what everyone else seems to believe, I am aware that other eligible women exist in Alagaësia and that people have been known to fall in love more than once. I might indeed decide that I fancy another. However, my path is not so easy as that. Regardless of whether I can shift my affections to another – and the heart, as you observed, is a notoriously fickle beast – the question remains: should I?"

"Your tongue has grown as twisted as the roots of a fir tree," said Roran. "Speak not in riddles."

"Very well: what human woman can begin to understand who and what I am, or the extent of my powers? Who could share in my life? Few enough, and all of them magicians. And of that select group, or even of women in general, how many are immortal?"

Roran laughed, rough and hearty. "You might as well ask for the sun in your pocket or-" He stopped and tensed as if he were about to spring forward and then became unnaturally still. "You cannot be."

"I am."

Roran struggled to find words. "Is it a result of your change in Ellesméra, or is it part of being a Rider?"

"Part of being a Rider."

"That explains why Galbatorix hasn't died."

"Aye."

The branch Roran had added to the fire burst asunder with a muted pop as the coals underneath heated the gnarled length of wood to the point where a small cache of water or sap that had somehow evaded the rays of the sun for untold decades exploded into steam.

"The idea is so… vast, it's almost inconceivable," said Roran. "Death is part of who we are. It guides us. It shapes us. It drives us to madness. Can you still be human if you have no mortal end?"

"I'm not invincible," Eragon pointed out. "I can still be killed with a sword or an arrow. And I can still catch some incurable disease."

"But if you avoid those dangers, you will live forever."

"If I do, then yes. Saphira and I will endure."

"It seems both a blessing and a curse."

"Aye. I cannot in good conscience marry a woman who will age and die while I remain untouched by time; such an experience would be equally cruel for both of us. On top of that, I find the thought of taking one wife after another throughout the long centuries rather depressing."

"I don't understand."

Eragon blinked, "What don't you understand?"

"If you're going on and on about all this," he twisted his hands about. "Your immortality and not being able to love anyone but an elf… or…"

His mouth twitched as he realized what Roran was about to say. "Don't."

"Someone needs to tell you, and it looks like I'm the only one who's going to. Everyone else is probably too scared to say it. If you haven't admitted it to her yet, at least admit it to yourself. Captured by the Empire or not, it's as plain as day. Perhaps not lately, for this has been the most awkward time I've spent in the company of the two of you. She still stares when you aren't looking, and your attempts to ignore her are undermined by your troubled glances. What happened?" From the tone in his voice, Eragon realized that Roran truly wanted to understand why it was so apparent that he wasn't courting Mariah.

"I can't trust her Roran… not after all that's happened."

"You denied her," he gawked. "You have admitted it, and you rejected her. I never thought I'd see the day." He knew his cousin, and this was not him. If ever he were to figure out his feelings, and had the nerve to act upon them, he would never let her go. Seeing Mariah alone in Carvahall had worried him, but now he understood. The trust they once shared unbridled between them had been broken so completely Eragon now denied himself the one thing he had always wanted. Instead, during her apparent death, he had pursued an elf with features akin to her own, as if replacing her and it had only ended in more heartache.

Eragon shook his head, his tone agonized. "I can't…"

Roran folded his arms at him, "Then you're a fool. You will never be happy, for the rest of your immortal life, brother. You remember I said that. And I also hope you realize that she can probably find someone else who loves her, maybe not as much as you, but enough." Deciding his cousin had had sufficient criticism, he parted from the topic, "And perhaps you won't have to watch it happen, because you may not have to worry about living forever. Galbatorix or one of his soldiers could put steel through us at any moment. A wise man would ignore the future and drink and carouse while he still has an opportunity to enjoy this world."

"I know what Father would say to that."

"And he'd give us a good hiding to boot." Roran said evenly, watching his cousin. They both broke out into laughter. When they ran out of air, they fell back into silence.

 _Quieter, unless you want to wake Mariah. Your laughter nearly brought her conscious. You should sleep as well,_ said Saphira to Eragon and Roran. _It's late, and we must rise early tomorrow._

Eragon looked at the black vault of the sky, judging the hour by how far the stars had rotated. The night was older than he expected. "Sound advice," he said. "I just wish we had a few more days to rest before we storm Helgrind. The battle on the Burning Plains drained all of Saphira's strength and my own, and we have not fully recovered, what with flying here and the energy I transferred into the belt of Beloth the Wise these past two evenings. My limbs still ache, and I have more bruises than I can count. Look…" Loosening the ties on the cuff of his left shirtsleeve, he pushed back the soft lámarae – a fabric the elves made by cross-weaving wood and nettle threads – revealing a rancid yellow streak where his shield had mashed against his forearm.

"Ha!" said Roran. "You call that tiny little mark a bruise? I hurt myself worse when I bumped my toe this morning. Here, I'll show you a bruise a man can be proud of." He unlaced his left boot, pulled it off, and rolled up the leg of his trousers to expose a black stripe as wide as Eragon's thumb that slanted across his quadriceps. I caught the haft of a spear as a soldier was turning about."

"Impressive, but I have even better." Ducking out of his tunic, Eragon yanked his shirt free of his trousers and twisted to the side so that Roran could see the large blotch on his ribs and the similar discoloration on his belly. "Arrows," he explained. Then he uncovered his right forearm, revealing a bruise that matched the one on his other arm, given when he had deflected a sword with his bracer.

Now Roran barred a collection of irregular blue-green spots, each the size of a gold coin, that marche from his left armpit down to the base of his spine, the result of having fallen upon a jumble of rocks and embossed armor.

Eragon inspected the lesions, then chuckled and said, "Pshaw, those are pinpricks! Did you get lost and run into a rosebush? I have one that puts those to shame." He removed both his boots, then stood and dropped his trousers, so that his only garb was his shirt and woolen underpants. "Top that if you can," he said, and pointed to the inside of his thighs. A riotous combination of colors mottled the skin as if Eragon were an exotic fruit that was ripening in uneven patches from crabapple green to putrefied purple.

"Ouch," said Roran. "What happened?"

"I jumped off Saphira when we were fighting Murtagh and Thorn in the air. That's how I wounded Thorn. Saphira managed to dive under me and catch me before I hit the ground, but I landed on her back a bit harder than I wanted to."

Roran winced and shivered at the same time. "Does it go all the way…" He trailed off, and made a vague gesture upward.

"Unfortunately."

"I have to admit, that's a remarkable bruise. You should be proud; it's quite a feat to get injured in the manner you did and in that… particular… place."

"I'm glad you appreciate it."

Roran chuckled, moving to take off his shirt. "Well, you may have the biggest bruise, but the Ra'zac dealt me a wound the likes of which you cannot match-"

"Ack!" Mariah slapped her hands over her face. "What… are you two doing?!"

Eragon's face went red and he quickly redressed himself. He hissed at her, "Aren't you supposed to be asleep?" Saphira let out a warm rumble, laughing at his expense.

"I was, and then I woke up because it's the middle of the night and someone decided not to sleep at all before marching into Helgrind tomorrow." She lowered her hands and froze as if stricken by lightning. Jumping over Saphira's tail, she moved to Roran in a few lithe steps, "By the gods… what happened to you?"

A long, puckered scar, red and glossy, wrapped around Roran's right shoulder, starting at his collarbone and ending just past the middle of his arm. It was obvious that the Ra'zac had severed part of the muscle and that the two ends had failed to heal back together, for an unsightly bulge deformed the skin below the scar, where the underlying fibers had recoiled upon themselves. Farther up, the skin had sunk inward, forming a depression half an inch deep.

"Roran! You should have shown this to me days ago. I had no idea the Ra'zac hurt you so badly… Do you have any difficulty moving your arm?"

Before Roran could respond, Mariah's right hand had started to glow with a warm red-orange hue. She reached forward and placed her palm upon his shoulder, drawing her fingers down the massive wound. Singing quietly under her breath, a healing incantation, muscle and skin writhed and twisted until he was whole once more. She faltered, removing her hand and inspecting his torso, wavering slightly.

Roran grinned after stretching and flexing, rotating his arm through the air a few times. "It's as good as ever! Better, maybe. Thank you Mariah."

She smiled faintly and sat down on the ground near Saphira again roughly. "Of course Roran… I would hate to see you crippled and scarred for the rest of your life." Eragon turned his head at her words, a shiver rippling down his spine at the familiarity of it. "You two should rest… I'll stay up and keep guard. I'm rested enough..." Picking up on the quake in her voice, Eragon turned his gaze back toward her as Roran settled down to sleep.

Once his cousin had drifted off and began to snore, Eragon looked at her. "That took more out of you than you anticipated." His voice was restrained as his eyes searched her face,

"Indeed… I forgot how weak I am without Andrar nearby… or my Eldunarí. And this blade only carries so much magic, I dare not tap into it yet." Mariah sat her head on her knees, staring at the blackening embers of their campfire. "You should rest…"

"I can survive on less sleep."

She shook her head, "No, you have done enough these past few days, you need rest. I can stay up without any trouble. Please Shadeslayer. If you are tired tomorrow when we attack Helgrind, we will all be dead."

He stiffened at the name. "Very well." Eragon moved back to Saphira, laying out beside her and drifting into an uneasy sleep.

* * *

With Love, As Always,

Mariah Dawnsinger


	5. Ch 85: Rescue

**Chapter Eighty-Five: Rescue**

Daybreak was fifteen minutes away when Eragon rolled upright. He snapped his fingers twice to wake Roran and then scooped up his blankets and knotted them into a tight bundle. Pushing himself off the ground, Roran did likewise with his own bedding.

They looked at each other and shivered with excitement.

"If I die," said Roran, "you will see to Katrina?"

"I shall."

"Tell her then that I went into battle with joy in my heart and her name upon my lips."

"I shall."

Eragon muttered a quick line in the ancient language. The drops in his strength that followed were almost imperceptible. "There. That will filter the air in front of us and protect us from the paralyzing effects of the Ra'zac's breath." He glanced around as he heard quiet singing, tensing. Then his mind recognized the voice and watch Mariah pulling on her sword belt. She was weaving protective spells over herself as she went, when she felt his stare. He swallowed hard, averting his gaze as she met it, remembering the first time he'd seen those eyes again, nearly a week ago now, the dread still filling his stomach.

With a sword at his hip, Eragon had brought a shield with him in order to help defend himself. Ancalë shimmered as he drew the blade, testing its weight again in his hand. It felt heavier than Zar'roc, though seemed every bit its equal in design. Across his back, Eragon slung the quiver given to him by Queen Islanzadí. In addition to twenty heavy oak arrows fletched with gray goose feathers, the quiver contained the bow with silver fittings that the queen had sung out of a yew tree for him. The bow was already strung and ready for use.

Saphira kneaded the soil beneath her feet. _Let us be off!_

Leaving their bags and supplies hanging from the branch of a juniper tree, the boys clambered into her saddle. Mariah leapt up behind them, bracing herself against Roran's back, locking one of her boots against a spike along her back. "Are you going to fall?" Roran asked, glancing over his shoulder at her.

"I'll not die if I do," she assured him. "I can catch myself with magic."

A piece of shale cracked under Saphira's weight as she settled into a low crouch and, in a single giddy bound, leaped up to the rim of the gulch, where she balanced for a moment before unfolding her massive wings. The thin membranes thrummed as Saphira raised them toward the sky. Vertical, they looked like two translucent blue sails.

"Not so tight," grunted Eragon.

"Sorry," said Roran. He loosed his embrace around his cousin's waist.

Further speech became impossible as Saphira jumped again. When she reached the pinnacle, she brought her wings down with a mighty _woosh_ , driving them up even higher. With each subsequent flap, they climbed closer to the flat, narrow clouds.

As Saphira angled toward Helgrind, Eragon glanced to his left and discovered that he could see a broad swath of Leona Lake some miles distant. A thick layer of mist, gray and ghostly in the predawn glow, emanated from the water, as if witchfire burned upon the surface of the liquid. Eragon tried, but even with his hawklike vision he could not make out the far shore, nor the southern reaches of the Spine beyond, which he regretted. It had been too long since he had laid eyes upon the mountain range of his childhood.

To the north stood Dras-Leona, a huge, rambling mass that appeared as a blocky silhouette against the wall of mist that edged its western flank. The one building Eragon could identify was the cathedral where the Ra'zac had attacked him; its flanged spire loomed above the rest of the city, like a barbed spearhead.

And somewhere in the landscape that rushed below, Eragon knew, were the remnants of the campsite that where the Ra'zac had mortally wounded Brom. He allowed all of his anger and grief over the events of that day – as well as Garrow's murder and the destruction of their farm – to surge forth and give him courage, nay, the _desire_ , to face the Ra'zac in combat.

 _Eragon,_ said Saphira. _Today we need not guard our minds and keep our thoughts secret from one another, do we?_

 _Not unless another magician should appear._

 _We should allow Mariah to be privy to our thoughts as well then, in the event of some misfortune._

He hesitated, _Aye, but only just._ Feeling her approval, there was a sudden expansion of his mental capacity as the dragon brushed against the mind of the dragon-less Rider.

 _Yes, Saphira?_

 _It would be best for us to be in communication during the course of today._

 _I'm in full agreement. I will be sure to lower my guard for you._ Then her presence was all but gone.

A fan of golden light flared into existence as the top of the sun crested from the horizon. In an instant, the full spectrum of colors enlivened the previously drab world: the mist glowed white, the water became a rich blue, the daubed-mud wall that encircled the center of Dras-Leona revealed its dingy yellow sides, the trees cloaked themselves in every shade of green, and the soil blushed red and orange. Helgrind, however, remained as it always was – black.

The mountain of stone rapidly grew larger as they approached. Even from the air, it was intimidating.

 _Brace yourself Mariah,_ Saphira warned, feeling the woman's acknowledgement. Diving toward the base of Helgrind, Saphira tilted so far to her left, Eragon and Roran would have fallen if they had not already strapped their legs to the saddle. Surprised Mariah had not fallen, he looked back to her, watching her muttering a spell under her breath and braced along Saphira's back spikes. Her fingers were curled into Saphira's saddle just under the lip. Then Saphira whipped around the apron of scree and over the altar where the priests of Helgrind observed their ceremonies. The lip of Eragon's helm caught the wind from her passage and produced a howl that almost deafened him.

"Well?" shouted Roran.

"The slaves are gone!"

A great weight seemed to press Eragon into his seat as Saphira pulled out of her dive and spiraled up around Helgrind, searching for an entrance to the Ra'zac's hideout.

 _Not even a hole big enough for a woodrat,_ she declared. She slowed and hung in place before a ridge that connected the third lowest of the four peaks to the prominence above. The jagged buttress magnified the boom produced by each stroke of her wings until it was as loud as a thunderclap. Eragon's eyes watered as the air pulsed against his skin.

 _There is an entrance,_ Mariah assured her. She narrowed her eyes and then indicated it. _Saphira, just there, do you notice?_

 _I see but rock, little one._

 _Land on that outcrop, do you see the flower?_

Eragon spotted it, _How does it get enough light to live?_

Saphira flew closer, throwing out her wings and sinking her claws into the side of the mountain. Mariah locked her boot on one of her spikes and pushed of heavily, leaping past Roran off Saphira's back. She clung to the side of the spire, pulling herself up onto the ledge, then vanished.

"Sorcery!" Roran gasped.

 _It's an illusion!_ exclaimed Saphira.

Saphira pushed the tip of her snout toward the sheer rock, advancing scale by scale until her head was passed into the rock. With a surge of her mighty thews, she abandoned the spur and flung the rest of her body after her head. It required every bit of Eragon's self-control not to cover his face in a desperate bid to protect himself as the crag rushed toward him.

An instant later, he found himself looking at a broad, vaulted cave suffused with the warm glow of morning. Saphira's scales refracted the light, casting thousands of shifting blue flecks across the rock. Twisting around, Eragon saw no wall behind them, only the mouth of the cave and a sweeping view of the landscape beyond.

Hunching forward, Eragon began to unbuckle his legs from the saddle as he studied their surroundings, alert for danger. He heard Mariah's heels click on the stone as she stepped toward Saphira, having rushed to get out of the dragon's way as she entered the spire.

The opening of the cave was an irregular oval, perhaps fifty feet high and sixty feet wide. From there the chamber expanded to twice that size before ending a good bowshot away in a pile of thick stone slabs that leaned against each other in a confusion of uncertain angles. A mat of scratches defaced the floor, evidence of the many times the Letherblaka had taken off from, landed on, and walked about its surface. Like mysterious keyholes, five low tunnels pierced the sides of the cave, as did a lancet passageway large enough to accommodate Saphira. Eragon examined the tunnels carefully, but they were pitch black and appeared vacant, a fact he confirmed with a quick thrust of his mind. Strange, disjointed murmurs echoed from within Helgrind's innards, suggesting unknown _things_ scurrying about in the dark, and endlessly dripping water. Adding to the chorus of whispers was the steady rise and fall of Saphira's breathing, which was over-loud in the confines of the bare chamber.

The most distinctive feature of the cavern, however, was the mixture of odors that pervaded it. The smell of cold stone dominated, but underneath Eragon discerned whiffs of damp and mold and something far worse: the sickly sweet fetor of rotting meat.

Undoing the last few straps, Eragon swung his right leg over Saphira's spine, so he was sitting sidesaddle, and prepared to jump off her back. Roran did the same on the opposite side. Before he released his hold, Eragon heard, amid the many rustlings that teased his ear, a score of simultaneous clicks, as if someone had struck the rock with a collection of hammers. The sound repeated itself a half a second later.

He looked in the direction of the noise, as did Saphira.

Mariah drew her sword, lunging out of the way. A huge, twisted shape hurtled out of the lancet passageway. Eyes black, bulging, rimless. A beak seven feet long. Batlike wings. The torso naked, hairless, rippling with muscle. Claws like iron spikes.

Saphira lurched as she tried to evade the Lethrblaka, but to no avail. The creature crashed into her right side with what felt to Eragon like the strength and fury of an avalanche.

Watching as both Roran and Eragon went flying, Mariah twisted and gripped her sword tighter. The second Lethrblaka came rushing past her out of the lancet passage, launching into Saphira. A horrible, withering shriek made her spine tingle. Hoping Saphira could handle her own against the two, she watched the tunnels for the next pair of enemies.

They emerged, wielding long, pale blades of an ancient design in their mal-formed hands. Unlike their parents, the Ra'zac were roughly the same size and shape as humans. An ebony exoskeleton encased them from top to bottom, although little of it showed, for even in Helgrind, the Ra'zac wore dark robes and cloaks.

They advanced with startling swiftness, their movements sharp and jerky like those of an insect.

 _Are they an illusion too?_ Eragon's voice asked.

Still tethered to both him and Saphira, Mariah caught the comment. _No, Shadeslayer. They are real, and they will kill you, now draw your sword._

The realization that the Ra'zac were _impossible_ to detect hit him. The idea that they could conceal themselves from the minds of their prey astonished him and explained why they had been so successful at hunting down magicians and Riders for Galbatorix when they themselves could not use magic.

Raising his right hand above his head, Eragon cried, " _Brisingr!_ " and threw a roaring fireball toward the Ra'zac. They dodged, and the fireball splashed against the rock floor, guttered for a moment, and then winked out of existence. The spell was silly and childish and could cause no conceivable damage if Galbatorix has protected the Ra'zac like the Lethrblaka. Still, Eragon found the attack immensely satisfying. It also distracted the Ra'zac long enough for Eragon to dash over to Roan and press his back against his cousin's.

"Hold them off for a minute," he shouted, hoping Roran would hear. Whether he did or not, Roran grasped Eragon's meaning, for he covered himself with his shield and lifted his hammer in preparation to fight.

Mariah lurched toward the Ra'zac with the steel blade in her hand, rushing through a series of maneuvers with fluidity Eragon had only seen among a select few, including the elves, Brom, and Murtagh. She glanced over at Roran as he stepped up beside her, bracing his shield against his arm, hammer in hand.

She could hear Saphira's bellows behind her as she fended off both of the Lethrblaka. A trail of metallic blue-green flowed along the cracks in the rock by her feet from their wounds. Mariah's voice broke through his mind, _Eragon! We can deal with the Ra'zac, help Saphira. She can't fight them both on her own._

The Ra'zac struck toward Roran, their swords thudded against his shield and helm. Though rattled, he was unmoved. They struck again, but each time their weapons glanced off Roran's armor or missed his face and limbs by a hairsbreadth, no matter how fast they swung their blades. Roran was too slow to retaliate, but neither could the Ra'zac harm him. They hissed with frustration and spewed a continuous stream of invectives, which seemed all the more foul because of how the creatures' hard, clacking jaws mangled the language.

Unarmored, she was exposed to every swipe of their long, pale blades. Hoping Roran would provide enough distraction and shielding for both of them, she attacked without pause. The enchanted steel blade met their strikes before scratching the surface of her skin. Locked at the hilt, she ducked as the second Ra'zac made for a clean sweep of her neck. The blade tip caught her jaw before sliding past her face. Dropping low, she drew back her blade and twisted behind the smaller of the two Ra'zac. Mariah slashed her blade in an arc toward its shoulder, attempting to hew off its fighting arm. The Ra'zac turned, blocking her attack with intuitive movement. Roran slammed his hammer toward the same opponent, forcing the Ra'zac to turn and avoid his blow. The larger of the two was edging around behind Roran to attack Eragon as he tried to come up with a way to destroy the Lethrblaka. Realizing he was too engrossed in his chanting to defend himself, Mariah ducked past a sword strike and rushed to the larger Ra'zac to intercept him.

And then, amid the din of steel against steel, and steel against wood, and claws against stone, there came the scrape of a sword sliding through mail, followed by a wet crunch. Roran yelled, and Eragon felt blood splash across the calf of his right leg. Watching, the Ra'zac split Eragon's calf open with its ancient blade, she rushed the creature with her shoulder, slamming them both into the ground.

"Garjzla, letta!"

It was a crude spell, constructed in haste and poorly worded, yet it worked. The bulbous eyes of the Lethrblaka with the broken wing became a matched set of mirrors, each a perfect hemisphere, as Eragon's magic reflected the light that otherwise would have entered the Lethrblaka's pupils. Blind, the creature stumbled and flailed at the air in a vain attempt to hit Saphira.

The Ra'zac landed underneath Mariah and jutted out its neck. She recoiled as a short, thick beak appeared from within the depths of its hood. The chitinous appendage snapped shut just short of her right eye. In a rather detached way, she noticed that the Ra'zac's tongue was barbed and purple and writhed like a headless snake. It threw her off, Mariah's steel sword skittering across the stone floor.

Eragon pivoted around her to Roran, whose left side was slick with blood, and parried the sword of the other Ra'zac. He feigned, beat the Ra'zac's blade, and, when the Ra'zac stabbed at his throat, whirled his sword across his body and deflected the thrust. Without pausing, Eragon lunged forward and planted the sword in the Ra'zac's abdomen.

There was a cracking noise, then a spurt of blue-green gore. He withdrew Ancalë and watched the Ra'zac bleeding out before him. The second, larger Ra'zac hurried to support the smaller of the two as they rushed toward the tunnel. Mariah jumped to follow when the blinded, broken-winged Lethrblaka flew the width of the cave and slammed against the far wall, knocking loose a shower of stone flakes from the ceiling. Without thinking, Mariah dropped her blade, shielding herself and the two men from the cascade with magic. The sight and sound were so colossal, they caused Eragon, Roran, and the Ra'zac to flinch and turn, simply out of instinct.

Jumping after the crippled Lethrblaka, which she had just kicked, Saphira sank her teeth into the back of the creature's sinewy neck. The Lethrblaka thrashed in one final effort to free itself, and then Saphira whipped her head from side to side and broke its spine. Rising from her bloody kill, Saphira filled the cave with a savage roar of victory.

Looking between the Lethrblaka and Saphira, Mariah realized the dragon was more than a match for the bat-winged creatures. Instead, she focused her gaze on Eragon, then Roran. They were both bleeding, Eragon from his leg, and he wasn't putting any weight upon it. The gash in Roran's torso, which was gushing blood. The Ra'zac were already disappearing down the nearest tunnel, still bleeding. There wouldn't be time to heal both men and stop their enemies' escape. She turned and rushed after the hooded figures, ducking only to pick up her sword mid-stride. "Heal yourselves!" she shouted at them, her voice bouncing off the walls in contrast with the shrieking of the bat-winged creatures behind them.

The remaining Lethrblaka did not hesitate. Tackling Saphira, it dug its claws underneath the edges of her scales and pulled her into an uncontrolled tumble. Together they rolled to the lip of the cave, teetered for a second, and then dropped out of sight, battling the whole way. It was a clever tactic, for it carried the Lethrblaka out of the range of Eragon's senses, and that which he could not sense, he had difficulty casting a spell against.

 _Saphira!_ cried Eragon.

 _Tend to yourself. This one won't escape me._ As he turned, Mariah was already rushing down the tunnel after the Ra'zac, her form vanishing into the darkness.

She could hear her quiet, rapid breathing as she rushed after the figures. Her eyes could see fairly well in darkness, and knew the Ra'zac could as well. It was doubtless however, which had better night vision. The tunnel slanted downward and often split or turned, leaving her to pause and find the bloody trail before switching directions to follow. She had to crouch a few times in order to get through some of the tighter passageways and found herself thankful for being able to tolerate small spaces.

Mariah had a hand pressed to the ceiling, feeling dampness of water on rock, when Saphira's presence returned. She had been triumphant in her attack upon the Lethrblaka. A smile touched her lips as she brushed against the dragon's consciousness, congratulating her.

 _Were you able to find them yet?_

 _Not quite, follow the trail of blood. Though by the time you've found us, I hope I have them dead._

She felt Eragon's grumble of approval and then his receding thoughts. It wasn't long after when she came upon an expanse of level stone. Looking around, Mariah recalled the last ten minutes of nearly constant descent and realized she must be somewhere closer to the bottom than the top of the spire. A ginger touch outward with her mind let her sense someone just ahead. Katrina.

Bolting forward, she heard her boots clicking against the stone floor. Halfway toward Katrina, Mariah stopped, realizing the blood trail was now behind her. She whirled around, pulling her sword upward to block an attack. The Ra'zac shrieked in her face, clicking its beak furiously at her. She snarled and twisted, bringing the blade around and slashing at the creature as Eragon and Roran came into view just beyond at the entrance to the tunnel.

"Kveykva!" Mariah heard Eragon shout and immediately closed her eyes. Red light, bright as the midday sun, flared into existence. It had no source, and thus it illuminated every surface evenly and without shadows, giving things a curious flat appearance. The sudden blade dazzled Eragon, but it did more than that to the Ra'zac in front of him; the creature dropped, covered its hooded face, and screamed high and shrill. A similar screech sounded from just behind a rock, where the bleeding Ra'zac was clutching a bow.

Roran charged the crippled Ra'zac, hammer held high. Mariah opened her eyes at his battle cry, watching his hammer fall. "For my father!" shouted Roran. He struck again. "For our home!" The Ra'zac was already dead, but Roran lifted the hammer once more. "For Carvahall!" His final blow shattered the Ra'zac's carapace like the rind of a dry gourd. In the merciless ruby glare, the spreading pool of blood appeared purple.

When Mariah looked back at the remaining Ra'zac, she found it gone, having rushed away down the tunnel during the distraction, realizing its companion was doomed. She sighed and straightened, sheathing her blade.

"I've waited a long time to do that," Roran said.

Looking at him, she smiled a bit, then turned her gaze to Eragon. She tensed and rushed to him, Eragon started, raising his blade to combat her as she came closer. Then, his face started stinging, burning even, with pain, dropping to the floor. He let out a cry, clutching his cheek, "Ahh!"

"It's bubbling!" Roran exclaimed in panic.

Mariah wrenched his hand away, already halfway through an incantation, cleansing the wound and surrounding tissue, then repairing the damage to his face. Once she finished, she stayed on top of him, staring at his skin, as if waiting for it to start bubbling again. Eragon opened and closed his mouth several times to make sure the muscles were working properly, then let out a sigh.

Relieved, she pulled away and started walking across the expanse again toward the cells. Behind her, Eragon spoke, "Brisingr raudhr," and created a red werelight like that from the previous night. There were twenty or so ironbound doors, some on either side. He pointed and said, "Ninth down, on the right. You go get her, Roran. I'll check on the other cells. The Ra'zac might have left something interesting in them."

He sprinted past Mariah, to the proper door, abandoned his shield, and set to work on the hinges with his hammer. Each blow created a frightful crash. She ignored the clanging and looked toward the Rider, watching him with interest. _You already know._

 _Aye._

Walking to him, Mariah assisted in his 'search'. She alternated opening and searching the cells with him. Feeling Eragon's apprehension of alerting his cousin, she played along. After two more doors, she waited for him to unlock the fourth, staring at the man who had caused Roran and Katrina to suffer so much: Sloan.

The butcher sat slumped against the left-hand wall, both arms chained to an iron ring above his head.

His ragged clothes barely covered his pale, emaciated body; the corners of his bones stood out in sharp relief underneath his translucent skin. His blue veins were also prominent. Sores had formed on his wrists where the manacles chafed. The ulcers oozed a mixture of clear fluid and blood. What remained of his hair had turned gray or white and hung in lank, greasy ropes over his pock-marked face.

Roused by the clang or Roran's hammer, Sloan lifted his chin toward the light and, in a quavering voice, asked, "Who is it? Who's there?" His hair parted and slid back, exposing his eye sockets, which had sunk deep into his skull. Mariah gritted out a small gasp through clenched teeth. The Ra'zac had pecked out Sloan's eyes.

The butcher had told the Ra'zac that Eragon had found Saphira's egg. Furthermore, Sloan had murdered the watchman, Byrd, and had betrayed Carvahall to the Empire. If he were brought before his fellow villagers, they would undoubtedly find Sloan guilty and condemn him to death by hanging.

Mariah watched Eragon struggle with his presence and understood his hesitation. They had known Sloan since their childhood. Not only that, but if Katrina had to stand idly by and watch her father be murdered. Sloan could not go back to the Varden with them, that much was certain. She placed a hand on her blade and glanced up at Eragon, watching him flex his jaw, as if trying to find words. _You don't have to do it._

 _I have killed in the heat of battle, but never like this._ He said, unconscious in his response. _Mark and Murtagh would not hesitate._

 _You are not our brothers, Shadeslayer. Your heart has mercy, where theirs carry anger and logic._

"What do you want?" asked Sloan. He turned his head from side to side in an attempt to hear better. "I already told you everything I know!"

Eragon glanced over his shoulder as Roran broke the last hinge to Katrina's cell door. Dropping his hammer, Roran prepared to charge the door and knock it inward but then appeared to think better of it and tried to lift it free of its frame. The door rose a fraction of an inch, then halted and wobbled in his grip. "Give me a hand here!" he shouted. "I don't want it to fall on her."

Eragon looked back at the wretched butcher. He had no more time for mindless wanderings. He had to choose. One way or another, he had to choose.

"Eragon!"

 _I don't know what's right_ , realized Eragon.

Mariah started drawing her sword, _I'll decide for you._

 _No. Wait._ Eragon lifted his hand, whispering, "Slytha." Sloan's manacles rattled as he went limp, falling into a profound sleep. As soon as he was sure the spell had taken hold, Eragon closed and locked the cell door again and replaced his wards around it.

Turning, Mariah went to Roran. "I thought you were a smith, and you couldn't get these bars open on your own?"

"What was in there?" he asked as Eragon took up his place opposite him, ignoring Mariah's remark.

"Sloan." Eragon adjusted his grip on the door between them. "He's dead."

Roran's eyes widened. "How?"

"Looks like they broke his neck."

"It's better that way, I suppose. Ready? One, two three-"

Together, the two of them heaved the massive door out of its casing and threw it across the hallway. The stone passageway returned the resulting boom to them again and again. Without pause, Roran rushed into the cell, which was lit by a single wax taper. Mariah slipped into the cell after him, Eragon followed a step behind.

Katrina cowered at the far end of an iron cot. "Let me alone, you toothless bastards! I-" She stopped, struck dumb as Roran stepped forward. Her face was white from lack of sun and streaked with filth, yet at that moment, a look of such wonder and tender love blossomed upon her features.

Never taking her eyes off Roran, Katrina stood and, with a shaking hand, touched his cheek.

"You came."

"I came."

A laughing sob broke out of Roran, and he folded her in his arms, pulling her against his chest. They remained lost in their embrace for a long moment.

Drawing back, Roran kissed her three times on the lips. Katrina wrinkled her nose and exclaimed, "You grew a beard!" Of all the things she could have said, that was so unexpected – and she sounded so shocked and surprised – that Eragon chuckled in response.

For the first time, Katrina seemed to notice there were others in the room. She glanced the boy over, then settled on his face, which she studied with evident puzzlement. "Eragon? Is that you?"

"Aye."

Her eyes darted to Mariah as she pushed her hair from her face, smiling, "I'm glad to see you Katrina."

"Mariah… How… how did you find us? Who else is with you?"

"All that later. We have to get out of Helgrind before the rest of the Empire comes running after us,?" Roran said.

"Wait! What about my father? Did you find him?"

Roran looked at Eragon, then returned his gaze to Katrina and gently said, "We were too late."

A shiver ran through Katrina. She closed her eyes, and a solitary tear leaked down the side of her face. "So be it." Overhearing Eragon's thoughts, Mariah stepped over to her, kneeling and muttering quietly. With a glow the metal bands riveted around Katrina's ankles broke apart, clattering to the ground. Katrina jumped in surprise. "Magic…" she whispered.

 _Galbatorix will be sending someone after us soon. We need to make sure she isn't enchanted or oath-bound._ Eragon insisted, shifting toward the woman, getting ready to speak.

Sending a sharp jab at his mind, Mariah returned to her feet. _She's terrified as it is, and doesn't need you rushing through her mind right now. Let me, we were friends in Carvahall. I will swear to you in whatever language you want that I am being honest and thorough in my search of her memories._ She turned to Roran and Katrina, speaking gently. "We need to make sure that Galbatorix or one of his magicians hasn't enchanted you with any traps or forced you to swear anything in the ancient language. I don't recall hearing anything about it while I was in Urû'baen but just to be safe…"

"The ancient-"

Roran interrupted her: "Do this when we make camp! We can't stay here."

Shaking her head, Mariah said, "No, we need to do it now. Depending on the enchantment, we could all be in very much danger right this moment and not know it. If I don't find out right now, there's still a possibility we aren't making it out of here alive." Scowling, Roran moved aside hesitantly. With a small smile, Mariah stepped in front of Katrina, toe-to-toe with her, taking her hands gently. She was surprised to find she was taller than Katrina was by at least two inches now. It was not long ago she remembered being shorter, looking up to this beautiful lady. "I'm not going to hurt you, Katrina, I promise. Just relax and watch my eyes."

The room was silent aside from Mariah's gentle speech, conducting a full search of Katrina's mind. With her permission, she entered memories, questioning if someone had tampered with it. As gently as possible she searched, understanding how scalding a mind examination could be. All the while, she heard Roran's steady footsteps as he pace back and forth in front of the open doorway, and the silence enveloping his cousin as he stood still. Eragon watched quietly from against the wall, noticing Mariah's slender hands cradling Katrina's. The silver mark on her palm was barely visible beneath Katrina's left thumb.

After what felt like hours, Mariah receded from her mind. "I have seen all I need to know. Your thoughts are your own and you are free of any spells and oaths." She gave the woman a careful hug, "I am sorry that you endured so much Katrina."

She nearly started crying again as Roran rushed to her, Mariah handed her to him and watched as he wrapped Katrina in his arms again. Together, they exited the cell. "Brisingr, iet tauthr," said Eragon, gesturing at the werelight that still floated near the ceiling of the hallway. At his command, the glowing orb darted to a spot directly over his head and remained there, bobbing like a piece of driftwood in the surf.

Eragon took the lead, Mariah on his heels, as they hurried back through the jumble of tunnels toward the cavern where they had landed. As he trotted across the slick rock, he watched for the remaining Ra'zac while, at the same time, erecting wards to safeguard Katrina. Mariah heard him mutter and brushed against his mind. _I'll help you._ At her words, he felt a surge of energy and instantly added more spells to Katrina's web of protection.

Behind them, they could hear Katrina and Roran exchanging a series of brief phrases and lone words: "I love you… Horst and other safe… Always… For you… Yes… Yes…. Yes… Yes…" The trust and affection they shared were so obvious, it roused a dull ache of longing inside Eragon. His face burned red in the darkness as he noted Mariah still tethered to his mind, hoping she was too busy worrying about Katrina, to noticed.

When they were about ten yards from the main cavern and could just begin to see by the faint glow ahead of them, Eragon extinguished the werelight. A few feet later, Katrina slowed, then pressed herself against the side of the tunnel and covered her face. "I can't. It's too bright; my eyes hurt."

Roran quickly moved in front of her, casting her in his shadow. "When was the last time you were outside?"

"I don't know…" A hint of panic crept into her voice. "I don't know! Not since they brought me here. Roran, am I going blind?" She sniffed and began to cry.

"No, you're fine. You just need to get used to the sun again." Roran stroked her hair. "Come on, don't let this upset you. Everything is going to be all right… You're safe now. _Safe_ , Katrina. You hear me?"

"I hear you."

Mariah walked to her, setting a hand on her shoulder. "Here." She ripped a strip of her tunic from the bottom, securing the blindfold around Katrina's red hair, muttering at the same time. "That should help, and you should be able to see through it a little. A simple charm that to block the stench of the carcass up ahead."

"Thank you."

They emerged into the sunny, blood-spattered main cavern – which stank worse than before, owing to the noxious fumes that drifted from the body of the Lethrblaka – even as Saphira appeared from within the depths of the lancet opening opposite them. Seeing her, Katrina gasped and clung to Roran, digging her fingers into his arms.

Eragon said, "Katrina, allow me to introduce you to Saphira. I am her Rider. She can understand if you speak to her."

"It is an honor, O dragon," Katrina managed to say. She dipped her knees in a weak imitation of a curtsy.

Saphira inclined her head in return. Then she faced Eragon. _I searched the Lethrblaka's nest, but all I found was bones, bones, and more bones, including several that smelled of fresh meat. The Raz'ac must have eaten the slaves last night._

 _I wish we could have rescued them._

 _I know, but we cannot protect everyone in this war._

Gesturing at Saphira, Eragon said, "Go on; climb onto her. I'll join you in a moment."

Katrina hesitated, then glanced at Roran, who nodded and murmured, "It's all right. Saphira brought us here." Together, the couple skirted the corpse of the Lethrblaka as they went over to Saphira, who crouched flat upon her belly so that they could mount her. Cupping his hands to form a step, Roran lifted Katrina high enough to pull herself over the upper part of Saphira's left foreleg. From there Katrina clambered the looped leg straps of the saddle, as if a ladder, until she sat perched upon the crest of Saphira's shoulders. Like a mountain goat leaping from one ledge to another, Roran duplicated her ascent.

Crossing the cave after them, Eragon examined Saphira, assessing the severity of her various scrapes, gashes, tears, bruises, and stab wounds. To do so, he relied upon what she herself felt, in addition to what he could see.

 _For goodness' sake,_ said Saphira, _save your attentions until we are well out of danger. I'm not going to bleed to death._

Mariah shook her head, mending a gash in her side as she berated her Rider. Pausing, Mariah glanced up at Katrina, looking over her torn clothing. Reaching into one of the saddle bags, she pulled her fox fur collared cloak and threw it up to her. "You'll need that. It's cold when you fly."

 _That's not quite true, and you know it. You're bleeding inside. Unless I stop it now, you may suffer complications I can't heal, and then we'll never get back to the Varden. Don't argue; you can't change my mind, and I won't take a minute._

Together, it still took him and Mariah several long minutes to restore Saphira to her former health. Her injuries were severe enough that in order to complete the spells, they emptied the belt of Beloth the Wise, and some of the magic stored within Ancalë's pommel. Much to Saphira's growing displeasure, neither Rider was about to stop until she was fully patched.

Eragon slumped, tired from the magic and the fighting. Flicking a finger toward the places where the Lethrblaka had skewered her with their beaks, he said, _You should have Arya or perhaps Mark inspect my handiwork on those. I did my best, but I may have missed something._

 _I appreciate your concern for my welfare,_ she replied, _but this is hardly the place for softhearted_ _demonstrations. Once and for all, let us be gone!_

 _Aye. Time to leave._ "Get on her back, and leave with them," he said, motioning at Mariah. Not having much of a choice to disobey him, considering her oath, she watched him evenly for a moment before leaping and pulling herself onto the dragoness's back, locking her boot heels against her spikes.

"Come on!" called Roran. "Hurry up!"

 _Eragon!_ exclaimed Saphira.

Eragon shook his head. "No. I'm staying here."

"You-" Roran started to say, but a ferocious growl from Saphira interrupted him. She lashed her tail against the side of the cave and raked the floor with her talons, so that bone and stone squealed in what sounded like mortal agony.

"Listen!" shouted Eragon. "One of the Ra'zac is still on the loose. And think what else might be in Helgrind: scrolls, potions, information about the Empire's activities – things that can help us! The Ra'zac may even have eggs of theirs stored here. If they do, I have to destroy them before Galbatorix can claim them for his own."

"How will you get out of the Empire?" demanded Roran.

"I'll run. I'm as fast as an elf now, you know. You have a Rider with you and a dragon; they'll make sure you get to the Varden safely."

The tip of Saphira's tail twitched. That was the only warning Eragon had before she leaped toward him, extending one of her glittering paws. He fled, dashing into the tunnel a fraction of a second before Saphira's foot passed through the space where he had been.

Saphira skidded to a stop in front of the tunnel and roared with frustration that she was unable to follow him into the narrow enclosure. Her bulk blocked most of the light. The stone shook around Eragon as she tore at the entrance with her claws and teeth, breaking off thick chunks. Her feral snarls and the sight of her lunging muzzle, filled with teeth as long as his forearm, sent a jolt of fear through Eragon. He understood then how a rabbit must feel when it cowers in its den while a wolf digs after it.

"Gánga!" he shouted.

 _No!_ Saphira placed her head on the ground and uttered a mournful keen, her eyes large and pitiful.

"Gánga! I love you, Saphira, but you have to go."

She retreated several yards from the tunnel and snuffled at him, mewling like a cat. _Little one…_

Eragon hated to make her unhappy, and he hated to send her away; it felt as if he were tearing himself apart. Saphira's misery flowed across their mental link and, coupled with his own anguish, almost paralyzed him. Somehow he mustered the nerve to say, "Gánga! And don't come back for me or send anyone else for me. I'll be fine. Gánga! Gánga!"

Saphira howled with frustration and then reluctantly walked to the mouth of the cave. From his place on her saddle, Roran said, "Eragon, come on!" Mariah set a hand on the man's shoulder, squeezing slightly as her eyes flicked up towards Saphira's, meeting her gaze. "Don't be daft. You're too important to risk-"

A combination of noise and motion obscured the rest of his sentence as Saphira launched herself out of the cave. Saphira hovered for a moment as Mariah dug her boot in against her scales and sprung away from the dragon. For an instant, she was suspended five thousand feet above the ground, the spikes of Helgrind threatening below. She fell back into the mouth of the cave, rolling as she hit the ground and bounced back to her feet, meeting Eragon's gaze as he gawked at her.

"You were given an order," he spat.

Mariah brushed her hands off, wrinkling her nose at the sticky blue-green blood, striding past him. "You only told me to leave with them. You didn't say that _I_ couldn't come back for you. If you honestly thought I was going to leave you here alone…" Her voice dropped off as she summoned a magelight. It flickered into being, the red-orange color of fire, just above her head.

Eragon looked back out the mouth of the cave, watching Saphira in the clear sky beyond. She was, Eragon thought, magnificent: proud, noble, and more beautiful than any other living creature. No stag or lion could compete with the majesty of a dragon in flight. She said, _A week: that is how long I shall wait. Then I shall return for you, Eragon, even if I must fight my way past Shruikan, and a thousand magicians._

He stood there until she dwindled from sight and he could no longer touch her mind. Then, he turned, looking at Mariah waiting for him at the entrance to the tunnels, one hand on the sword at her hip. The flaming light licked the walls of the cavern, illuminating crevices and casting shadows. As Eragon stepped towards her, he caught the flame's reflection in her green eyes, and found his heart somehow less empty than he had a moment before.

* * *

With Love, As Always,

Mariah Dawnsinger


	6. Ch 86: Purpose

**Chapter Eighty-Six: Purpose**

A dull rumble roused Murtagh out of deep sleep. He slipped out of bed and immediately stepped on a large chunk of shell, shattering it underfoot. "Damn." He glanced over at the saddlebags, finding them empty. A stroke of panic rushed through him when he heard chirping from outside. He grabbed his cloak before poking his head out of the tent; he looked over and saw the two hatchlings gleefully clambering atop Thorn, Nasreen, and Andrar. The ruby dragon had one of his eyes closed tightly as they nipped and scrambled with their claws on his scales. "You make wonderful parents."

Thorn growled low at him when the hatchlings heard Murtagh speak. He was immediately swarmed as the green one launched from the tip of Thorn's snout and landed precisely in front of Murtagh, chirping loudly at him. _Your turn,_ he insisted, blowing hot air from his nostrils, reeking of smoke and meat.

Murtagh frowned and winced as the other clawed its way up his leg again, calling back to the other hatchling. "What am I supposed to do with them, eh? If I walk around camp like this I'm going to get some strange looks. And then no one will want to be within twenty leagues of me. A Rider with three dragons is unheard of."

Lifting her head, Nasreen nuzzled at the hatchling, rumbling in her chest. _They are quite smitten with you it seems Murtagh._

"I've noticed," he said, going to pick up the green one. It shrieked and scurried off underneath Nasreen, hissing at his hands. "Fine, walk then."

 _Find their Riders. Mark can probably help to arrange something,_ Andrar insisted, rising from the ground and lumbering off through the campsite.

Encouraging the little one out from under her leg, Nasreen looked back at Murtagh. _He is right you know, they need to find their Riders before someone else finds them first. It would be a shame for someone to attempt to harm them._

"Did you tell Kieran?"

 _She is on her way now._

"Good, I'm curious as to if she knew about this or not." Murtagh muttered, pulling up his cloak around himself. He waited beside Thorn for the princess, the dark dragon hatchling wrapped itself tightly around his upper arm. In the glinting sunlight its scales exploded into a ripple of violet and cobalt hues running beneath the black.

"They're so tiny!" Kieran said, crouching in front of Nasreen and observing the green one. She lifted her eyes to Murtagh, "What happened?"

"I suspect Mariah hid them as Eldunarí hoping no one would notice. Did you know?"

"What?" She looked down at them, shaking her head. "I knew she had stolen something from him, but I didn't realize it was these two..."

Murtagh folded his arms, "The reason I ask is because I know there was only one left I knew about. So... where did the other one come from?"

The princess shrugged, "I don't know where he was keeping the other one. Must have been a backup. It doesn't really matter now, because they've hatched it seems. Which means we need to find their Riders before someone else does."

"Agreed. Mark will be able to help organize a search. Would you like to come along?"

"Yes, I think that's for the best."

He stalked through the campsite with her, avoiding as much attention as he could, pulling his hood up and keeping the front clutched around his throat to hide the black hatchling. "Absolutely ridiculous... I can't believe she got away with stealing dragon eggs from him... let alone two." He growled under his breath as he saw Mark's white mare prancing up ahead outside his tent.

Without hesitation, Murtagh marched into the pavilion and waited for him to notice them. After a few more seconds of scribbling, the black-haired man lifted his head, staring at the Rider. Whipping his glasses off he stood abruptly and gaped. "What's all this?"

"Your sister," he said, throwing his hands up in defeat.

The black dragon hatchling chirped loudly as the green one started chasing its tail. "Mariah? Oh... it's no wonder she had you wipe her memory." Mark said, looking at Kieran.

"No kidding." Murtagh said, dropping heavily into a chair at the table. He put his head in his hand and rubbed his temples, feeling a headache coming on. "I don't know who they belong to. I don't know why now. All I know is there's _two_ of them and I am not a broodmother."

"Well, at least they decided to cling to you. Considering you have a dragon... you're the only ones here right now who knows how to really take care of one..."

Kieran leaned against the table, watching Mark. "Yes, but they can't be left to wander around without their Riders for too long. It's very important for them to find each other as soon as possible"

"Can you help me find who they belong to? Because I cannot be seen with three dragons. I will probably be feared more than Galbatorix if rumors start going on. I can just imagine, 'Murtagh, commander of the dragon army!' That's all I need."

Mark pondered the thought for a moment. "No, let's bring them to Nasuada and we'll organize a way to sort through the members of the Varden until we figure out who these two belong to. I do have one bit of unfortunate news for you though."

"What?" He asked, looking up at him with a slight panic. Kieran grimaced at his next words.

A quiet chuckle broke through Mark's voice as he spoke, "You touched the black one already..."

"And?"

He folded his arms, "It's now bound to you... I'm going to have to set the spell again for its proper Rider. But until we find that person, I'll leave it be. Unfortunately for you, there is no reversing that bond without twisting something inside you."

Murtagh gaped up at him, "You're telling me I have two dragons?"

"As of right now, yes. First person to touch the dragon becomes bonded with it. Regardless of if that person was meant to be its Rider or not. That's how the spell works. I spoke with Brom about it briefly before he died."

"It just jumped at me, I didn't touch it!"

Mark shrugged, "Don't shoot the messenger, Rider."

"I'm sorry Murtagh," Kieran added, watching him with dismay.

Looking at his shoulder, Murtagh gritted his teeth, growling at the black dragon who cringed slightly for a moment before nipping at his ear. "Damnit! We can't bring them to Nasuada. She's going to insist on keeping them for the Varden's own use. Where Eragon was able to pledge his loyalty to the Varden, a Rider born from within it will have but one purpose."

"That won't matter if the hatchlings die before they find their Rider. Nor will the Riders' allegiance matter if we don't survive this war. I can try to find the Riders myself, but Nasuada _will_ catch on if we run around camp with two new dragons." Mark said, "We're not getting out of this one."

"She's going to have my head for this for sure. I had no idea those Eldunarí were eggs, so if you think for a second I planned this-"

"No, no, this definitely has my sister's name all over it. This is something she would devise. Clever, but with no real end plan other than to ferry the eggs away from Galbatorix. Emulating Brom as usual.. Aye, let's go." Mark said, walking out, glancing down at the green dragonling and motioning for the two Riders to follow him to Nasuada's pavilion.

* * *

"The only Ra'zac left is the large one we caught by surprise just before we found Katrina. It's a shame I didn't run it through when I had the chance." Mariah said bitterly, walking shoulder-to-shoulder with him through the tunnels. They had begun their descent down to the level with the cells, intending on finding Sloan and the Ra'zac.

Eragon bit his lip, admitting his quandary, "I wanted to be the one to destroy them. They killed my father."

"They killed my grandfather," she reminded him, glancing up at his face. "But you can do what you'd like. If you're given the opportunity for a final blow, go right ahead, I will do the same. I don't want either of us dying down in this hell hole."

He grunted slightly, ducking and stepping ahead of her as they entered the larger cavern. The corpse of the Ra'zac was still lying where Roran had struck it down. "We wait here for it to come back."

"It's not coming back while two of us are here. We both carry blades… it's not senseless." She told him, folding her arms. "Here." Mariah lifted her voice, speaking clearly in the ancient language. "Let us end this fight, your companions are dead. You are the last. We will not rest until you have been struck down, or we lay dead. Reveal yourself."

Eragon added to her comment, "I promise that I shall not use gramarye against you, nor hurt or trap you with spells I have already cast. Come, O thou eater of men's flesh, let us end this fight."

It took some time, but finally, a strange calm swept over them. Thirty feet from them, in the entrance to tone of the caves, stood the Ra'zac. Blood dripped from the hem of the creature's ragged robes. "My massster does not want me to kill you," it hissed.

"No, he doesn't," Mariah commented.

The Ra'zac recognized her, jeering, "Dawnsssinger. Traitor. Betrayal. He sssent usss for you."

"Oh, I know he did. Sent you all those months ago to Carvahall." She felt Eragon tense at her words. "You're tired of doing all his work for him, aren't you? Especially after today."

"If I fall to your sssword, let Galbatorix deal with you as he will. He has more heartsss than you do."

Eragon laughed. "Hearts? I am the champion of the people, not him."

"Foolish boy." The Ra'zac cocked its head slightly, looking past him at the corpse of the other Ra'zac farther up the tunnel. "She was my hatchmate. You have become ssstrong since we firssst met, Shadeslayer."

"It was that or die."

"Will you make a pact with me, Ridersss?"

"What kind of a pact?"

"I am the lassst of my race, Shadeslayer. We are ancient, and I would not have us forgotten. Would you, in your songsss and in your hissstories, remind your fellow humans of the terror we inssspired in your kind?... Remember us as _fear_!"

"Why should I do that for you?" Eragon asked, glancing at Mariah.

Tucking its beak against its narrow chest, the Ra'zac clucked and chittered to itself for several moments. "Because," it said, "I will tell you sssomething secret, yesss I will. Sssomething even Dawnsssinger doesssn't know."

Mariah cocked her head, watching him. "Tell us."

"Give me your word firssst, lest you trick me."

Eragon shook his head, "No. Tell us, and then we will decide whether or not to agree."

Over a minute passed, and they didn't move. After another squall of sharp clicks, the Raz'ac said, "He has almossst found the _name_."

Mariah tightened her grip on her blade, gritting her teeth. "Eragon…"

"Who has?"

"Galbatorix."

"The name of what?"

The Ra'zac hissed with frustration. "I cannot tell you! The _name_! The true _name_!"

"You have to give me more information than that."

"I cannot!"

Mariah shook her head, drawing her blade. "It's no matter." She stepped forward once, "Drop your weapon… let this be a clean killing stroke. It will hurt less if you don't struggle."

The Ra'zac swept back its sodden cloak, revealing a bow that it held with an arrow already fit to the string. Lifting and drawing the weapon, the Ra'zac loosed the bolt in the direction of Eragon's chest. It stopped and fell two foot from him, dropping harmlessly to the ground. He blinked and looked at Mariah, whose hand was thrown out towards the arrow. She snarled as the Ra'zac dropped the bow on the floor, then straightened its cowl and slowly and deliberately pulled its leaf-bladed sword from underneath its robes. While it did, Eragon drew his blade, hands tight on the hilt.

It lunged, attempting to cleave Eragon from collarbone to hip, but Eragon twisted and stepped past the blow. From behind, Mariah swept her steel up across the creature's back, sheering the cloak in two, a spurt of blue-green blood splashed across her. As it shuddered, Eragon stepped back and then pushed the tip of Ancalë up through the plates that protected the creature's throat.

The Ra'zac shuddered once and then collapsed.

Eragon stared at his most hated foe, stared at its lidless black eyes, and suddenly he went weak at the knees and retched against the wall of the corridor. Stepping to him, Mariah set a hand on his back gently. Wiping his mouth, he yanked the blade free and whispered, "For our fathers. For our home. For Carvahall. I have had my fill of vengeance. May you rot here forever, Ra'zac." She helped him straighten, eyes glancing over his form to make sure he was steady, then started toward the cells, sheathing her sword. Eragon stepped behind her, going to retrieve Sloan.

"There's likely a path out of here, but without a map or a guide, we'll never find it." Mariah noted, staring at the sleeping man. "We could search all of the tunnels, but it might take days."

Eragon shook his head, "We need to make sure there's nothing here Galbatorix can use against us."

"I doubt there's much here," she said. "But we can search if you want to."

Moving into the cell, Eragon slung the butcher over his shoulder, and then began to retrace his steps back to the main cave of Helgrind.

At the first split in the tunnel, Mariah stopped. "I'll double back once I hit a dead end. We can take turns – that way we won't get lost." She turned and headed down the passageway, splitting her werelight into two separate orbs, leaving one with Eragon and unconscious Sloan. When she returned several minutes later, she carried with her a flask of Seithr oil. "It would be a shame to destroy something so powerful."

"We can't risk anyone else finding it, and I certainly don't want to inflict someone with that sort of pain."

"I assumed you'd say that," she said. With a nod, she went back down the hall and threw the flask back down the hallway, striking it with a burst of fire. The acid dissipated in the heat as they continued. In several of the following byways and chambers, they found many empty rooms, and then one filled with evil instrument – weapons, potions, scrolls, and books. After shuffling through the information, they lit it all aflame, leaving it to burn.

* * *

Mark pushed his way into Nasuada's tent without announcing himself, having already scanned the area for the presence of anyone he considered a threat. Her guards looked Mark up and down before letting him in without hesitation. They moved to restrain Murtagh and Kieran when Mark turned and barked, "Let them through, we have important information for Nasuada."

The leader of the Varden was standing at the head of her table, observing a map and some battle plans diligently when the three stepped in. "Marcus, what-" Her voice dropped from her throat as she watched the two hatchlings flittering around.

"We have a... small predicament, M'lady."

"Indeed," she stepped forward around the table and observed them. "Which of you wants to start explaining this... situation?"

Murtagh winced as the dark one nipped at him again, crawling up to his shoulder and flexing its wings. It rubbed against his cheek and purred quietly. "Mariah stole two of Galbatorix's remaining eggs and they've hatched."

"I see," she said, blinking. "That is most interesting. Who are their Riders?"

"That is what we came to see you about," Mark said, glancing at the two hatchlings. Neither of them were too keen on gaining Nasuada's attention, which struck her off his list of potential candidates. "Ah, I was wondering if one of them was yours."

Nasuada gawked at her advisor. "Mine?"

Kieran looked between them, immediately understanding what Mark was on about. She lifted her voice, looking at the dark skinned woman, "You see, Riders are typically people who have inherently strong traits. Leadership qualities, strong of mind or body, skilled with magic or blades. A dragon will only chose someone it deems worthy. Occasionally a dragon _does_ choose someone who does not possess traits like those I've just described. However, it seems to be rare..."

"Regardless of whether or not being a Rider is based on those traits, or if they become more prominent _after_ their becoming a Rider, Kieran is correct. Dragon Riders, in most regards, tend to possess certain... qualities."

"You are suggesting I possess the same traits as a Rider?" Nasuada asked them, bracing herself on her chair and slowly sinking into it.

"Yes, not only that, but your recent proximity to the eggs themselves." Mark nodded, "There are very few people who have been in close enough range of the eggs to hatch, yourself included."

She squinted slightly. "What are you saying? You already know who they belong to?"

"The likelihood of it being someone who has been nearby Murtagh's saddlebags recently increases the chances of their having been chosen, yes."

Murtagh frowned over at him, "Wait... who do you think they belong to then?"

"Nasuada, myself, Trianna, Elva... a handful of others..."

"That is a very narrow list Marcus, and three of those people are in this room this very moment. You clearly just stated I am not, by your hurried conclusion I would assume you have counted yourself out as well."

"Indeed," he glanced over at the dragons. "Neither of them willingly came to me or you. Which eliminates us. A dragon should know innately whom it belongs to."

"Elva." Nasuada said aloud. In an instant, the small girl made her way from a corner, as if simply made of air. Murtagh jumped slightly, not having seen her before that moment. "Please come here."

The small girl stood before them, looking at the dragons. Mark noted the gedwëy ignasia-like mark on her forehead and noted how strange fate would be if the purple-eyed girl bonded with one of the dragons. After a moment she sniffed and turned her head away. "Neither of those creatures belong to me."

"Very well, three. Should I send for Trianna?"

"I don't believe there's a need," Mark said, noting a presence approaching, stepping aside and turning to watch the entryway to Nasuada's tent.

The tiny green dragon swivled and bounced toward the entryway, launching itself at the new arrival. Arya's slender hands instinctively caught the tiny dragon, letting out a gasping breath as it crashed into her chest. She dropped to her knees, staring down into her hands and flushed bright red. The scales upon his sides and back were a dark forest green, while those upon his belly and the pads of his feet were lighter, with the smallest ones verging upon white. When against his body, his wings were the color of holly leaves, but when the light shone through them, they were the color of oak leaves in the spring. She looked upon her right palm and saw the gedwëy ignasia shimmer into being.

"Congratulations seem to be in order Arya Shur'tugal," Mark inclined his head toward the she-elf.

She looked up at Mark with wide eyes. He was smiling thinly at her, and a ripple ran through his jaw before he looked between Murtagh and Kieran, striding from the tent.

Hurriedly, Murtagh followed him out, "That takes care of the green one, but that still leaves this one."

"It belongs to Kendra. I'll let you tell her the good news when she returns." Mark insisted, wheeling around and setting a hand on his hip. A flickering smile appeared on his face as he watched Murtagh's gaping face.

"Oh no-"

"Oh yes," he smirked. "What? You think just because she doesn't _like_ Riders automatically makes it so that she won't be one? Her father and sister before her are bonded with a dragon. It's in her blood. Its comfortable with you, I would assume that's because of the necklace hanging there. It probably still smells like her, and I would bet she charmed it or something too. She should be back within a few days. You have until then to figure out how to tell her." Mark shook his head, "Fate is funny that way."

"If it's in her blood and that's why she was chosen, then why don't _you_ have a dragon, eh?"

Mark flicked his hair out of his vivid blue eyes and smirked at him, "That answer is simple: I can't stand flying."

* * *

Hot sunlight stung their cheeks as they made their way out of the network of tunnels. Holding his breath, he hurried past the dead Lethrblaka and went to the edge of the vast cave, where he gazed down the precipitous side of Helgrind at the hills far below. To the west, he saw a pillar of orange dust billowing above the lane that connected Helgrind to Dras-Leona, marking the approach of a group of horsemen.

Mariah narrowed her eyes at the group, "Strange. He didn't send any of his Riders."

"Now is not the time to be ungrateful for the lack of dragons." Eragon muttered, wincing as Sloan's weight crushed his right side.

"Do you want me to carry him?" She asked, raising an eyebrow.

Instead of responding, he simply shifted the butcher to his other shoulder. He blinked away the beads of sweat that clung to his eyelashes as he struggled to solve the problem of how he was supposed to transport Sloan and himself five thousand-some feet to the ground. "It's almost a mile down," he murmured. "If there were a path…"

"But there's not, and we don't have time to tunnel down and find a lower entrance. I can jump right now and live." At his confused glance she tapped her ears. In them he noticed, for the first time, diamonds. "They're charmed. I won't die if I fall from a distance that will kill me. But, we also don't have time to charm you to do the same. And I don't know if I just grab hold of the two of you, and we jump if the spell is strong enough to save all three of us without killing me, but we could give it a try."

"And risk you dying halfway there, then all of us becoming a giant splotch of blood on the ground - no."

She shrugged, looking down the side of Helgrind. "I can climb down, but you can't carrying him like that… so looks like your only choice is magic."

Eragon looked down, fixing his eyes on a narrow ledge about a hundred feet below. _This is going to hurt_ , he thought, preparing himself for the attempt. Then be barked, "Audr!"

Eragon felt himself rise several inches above the floor of the cave. "Fram," he said, and the spell propelled him away from Helgrind and into open space, where he hung unsupported, like a cloud drifting in the sky. Accustomed as he was to flying with Saphira, the sight of nothing but thin air underneath his feet still caused him unease.

By manipulating the flow of magic, Eragon quickly descended from the Ra'zac's lair to the ledge. Mariah stuck her head out of the illusion to watch him, raising an eyebrow dubiously. His boots slipped on a loose piece of rock as he alighted. For a handful of breathless seconds, he flailed, searching for a solid footing but unable to look down, as tilting his head could send him topping forward. He yelped as his left leg went off the ledge and be began to fall.

A tug at his back held him in place. Mariah had her brightsteel dagger jammed into a crack in the rock, white knuckles around the handle. She muttered a quiet spell, helping her get him back on his feet and stood beside him on the small ledge. "Is there any magic left in that sword?"

Leaning his back against Helgrind, Eragon glanced down at Ancalë, brushing against the energy reserves and sighed. "Not much."

"Don't use it unless you need it. Now, are you able to continue?"

His eyes looked up past her, realizing the approaching riders were gaining as the galloped across the dry land at a pace that worried him. "We are in no condition to duel with Galbatorix's spellcasters…"

"Ignore them. Focus Rider," she gripped his arm. "I need to know if you can keep going. If not, I'm coming up with a different plan."

He nodded and stepped off the ledge again, "Audr." Mariah jumped and tumbled after them, avoiding the use of her own magic, leaning on the charm on her earrings to supplement her strength. They twisted around the side of the spire until they could no longer see the horsemen. The closer they got to the ground, the slower they went. Seeing it happen, Mariah stopped him on one of the lower ledges.

"You're exhausted." She too was dripping with sweat. Eragon wavered as drowsiness swept over him. "Snap out of it, we can't stop now." Placing a hand on her sword, she pulled a surge of energy from it, half draining the blade, and pressed it into him. "You need to keep going, Shadeslayer. If you don't, one of us is about to die." He blinked at her, questioning what she meant. "And it's not about to be you."

He glanced at her earrings, then down at Sloan. Looking over the edge, he realized they were still about two hundred feet from the ground. "I can do this." Taking a final leap, he slowed his and Sloan's descent. Mariah dropped past him, relying on the reserves of magic in her diamonds to stop her from death. She approached the ground at a rapid clip, and then slowed until the magic abruptly cut, dropping her fifteen feet to the ground below. She twisted, landing in a half-roll to help break her fall. The diamonds were diminished.

Looking back up, she realized he was managing to slow down, but not enough to keep them from slamming into the sun-baked soil. He hit the ground on his chest, Sloan weighing on his back. Eragon let out a breath and felt none return. Slowly, he closed his eyes and heard rapid footsteps.

Mariah pushed Sloan off his back and flipped him over so he wasn't crushing his lungs. "Eragon!" She shook him by the shoulder. "Stay with me, come on."

No longer capable of coherent thought, Eragon was all but unconscious. Somewhere in the back of his brain he was aware that he was about to die. It did not frighten him; to the contrary, the prospect comforted him, for he was tired beyond belief, and death would free him from the battered shell of his flesh and allow him to rest for all of eternity.

"Damnit," she muttered, pressing into his mind, catching the fleeing thoughts of mortality. "No. You are _not_ dying here, Eragon." Mariah steeled herself, depleting her sword of energy – there was a snap of magic - then drained from herself what she dared, and pushed it into him. Feeling his heart beat once, stronger than before, she spoke again. "Eragon!"

He let out a breath and opened his eyelids carefully, his head spinning. _Mariah?_

 _Eragon? Come now, I need you to wake up. Please._

 _I'm so tired, Mariah._

 _I know. I know, but I need you to get up now. You can rest soon, but not now. Our lives are not yet lived. Please, Eragon, not like this..._

He stared up at her; the dawn sunlight set her face aglow. Every fleck of color in her eyes sharp and distinct to Eragon, he had never noticed how many different shades of green there were. She had dried blood specks on her pale skin, and dirt from the fall like freckles. Her face was so close he could feel her ragged breath on his skin, coming from between her parted mouth, there was blood collecting from a crack on her lower lip as she spoke. He could heard nothing. A loop of her hair dropped as the wind caught, blowing it across her cheek. Whether it was being on the brink of death or the newfound details he saw, in that moment she seemed more beautiful than he could ever have dreamed her to be. As he took another breath, he watched as her skin flushed red.

She watched him as he willed himself to sit upward, wavering as though he were about to faint. He reached out and mentally grasped the woody stem of a nearby shrub. Like a leech or parasite, he extracted the life from the plant, leaving it limp and brown. The subsequent rush of energy that course through Eragon sharpened his wits. Now he was scared; having regained his desire to continue existing, he found nothing but terror in the blackness beyond. He sapped the energy from several subsequent shrubs and plants until he once again possessed the full measure of his strength.

Mariah stood, relieved and offered her hand to help him to his feet. Taking it, he pulled himself to stand, watching her for a moment, avoiding his gaze. Around them, a host of brown plants stretched out nearly forty feet; a bitter taste filled his mouth as he saw what he had wrought.

Eragon went to Sloan, hoisted the gaunt butcher off the ground. Then he turned east and loped away from Helgrind with Mariah padding just behind him. Ten minutes later, he paused to check for pursuers. They saw a cloud of dirt swirling at the base of Helgrind – the horsemen had arrived at the spire.

"By the time they discover the Ra'zac's bodies, we shall have gone a league."

Mariah nodded, "They will also find no dragon. I doubt they will suspect us traveling on foot." She turned her gaze away as they started again at a steady walking pace. Above, the sun gleamed gold and white. Trackless wilderness extended for many leagues ahead before lapping against the outbuildings of some villages.

"The Ra'zac are dead," he said aloud, as if it were still a dream

"Yes," she admitted back. "We have achieved our vengeance."

The satisfaction of killing them trickled away at her words. The triumph felt bittersweet, tainted by an unexpected sense of loss. His hunt for the Ra'zac had been one of his last ties to his life in Palancar Valley, and he was loath to relinquish that bond, gruesome as it was. Moreover, the task had given him a purpose in life when he had none; it was the reason why he had originally left his home. Without it, a hope gaped inside of him where he had nurtured his hate for the Ra'zac. "And gone with it my purpose."

He heard her breathe out a quiet syllable of amusement, "Then you have not yet grasped your larger purpose." Then before he could ask, "You are a Dragon Rider. And you always will be. Freed of your revenge, you are able to carve your own path in this world. As a Rider you can choose whatever you want it to be. For now, I have made my choices. The Empire will fall, yes, that is a part of your goals, but cannot be your purpose."

"And what is yours then, if not to destroy the Empire?" He raised an eyebrow at her comment. "You seemed fit to telling me that was a goal before."

"Aye, but purpose it is not," Mariah told him, stepping over a fallen tree. "My purpose lies in a more noble pursuit." Her eyes flashed as she turned slightly to look at him. "My spirit wants few things in this world. Some are selfish, and others are not. Immortal as we are, I hope to accomplish them all."

Mariah turned, pushing ahead. Eragon allowed her to begin their journey again, his eyes trailing to the sword at her hip – drained of its energy the sheath was now as blue as the large sapphire gem set into the pommel. Eragon gasped and read the rune on the sheath: Undbitr, the sword of Brom.

* * *

"It's been so long since Nasreen was a hatchling, I am not used to caring for one so small," Kieran mused, playing with the tiny dragon.

Hunched over the table, Murtagh grunted, carefully pulling another line across the parchment he had spread across the table, not bothering to look up at Kieran playing with the black dragoness. Nasreen had identified the hatchling as a female, insisting Thorn was unable to figure out her sex due to being male; in response he had growled at her and flown off to hunt. The spikes along the hatchling's spine were stark against her dark scales, but more striking was the sheer number of them. She was easily the most lethal looking dragon he had laid eyes on, and she was only a hatchling. Nasreen had two smooth horns jutting from her skull, but they were small in comparison even to Saphira. This one had so many spikes that it was difficult to tell which were the horns. Around the base of her skull and along her long neck was a crest of points, which were already proving dangerous if she thrashed about.

"Oh, come on Murtagh she's technically yours... until Kendra gets back."

"She won't want her, and you know it. She'll probably want to kill her." He glanced at the hatchling and looked back at the page, flourishing his quill and gathering more ink in the nib.

Kieran pricked her finger on one of the spikes and immediately put the wound to her lips, wincing. "You don't know that," she murmured around her digit.

"Oh, yes I do, she'll run away the moment she finds out. If Mark's right of course, for all we know the dragon belonged to a soldier who died, and I'm stuck with it forever."

"She more than likely belongs to my sister, and you believe it just as much as I do. Stop being so... grumpy." The princess removed her finger from her mouth and sighed at the dragoness. Prancing around the tent, she scurried under the bed and into the hole she had burrowed, vanishing in the darkness. A moment later, she returned carrying a copper coin in her mouth, dropping it in front of Kieran, looking quite pleased with herself. She gave a chirp and looked toward Murtagh.

"Mm, yes, very nice." He muttered, detailing groups of inky black scales on the drawing. Kieran stared at him until he caught her gaze. "Yes?" His hand hovered over the inkwell as he watched her eyes.

Kieran watched as the dragoness scurried back into her tunnel and returned with a small ball of silver thread, batting it around the tent and tumbling after it. "You can talk to her already?"

"I know what she's chattering on about in general, yes. It's mostly fleeting impressions and vague thoughts though, not really talking. Half the time I have to try and figure out if it's her, Thorn, or myself thinking of something." He stood, stretching. Glancing down, he saw she had tangled herself up in the string and was struggling to unloop the strands from her spikes. The corner of his mouth tugged into a quick smile before he turned away.

She watched him knowingly, "That's quite impressive."

Murtagh shrugged and rolled up the parchment, setting the quill beside it. He moved from the tent, listening to the tiny patter of the hatchling's paws on the dirt behind him. She appeared first at his ankles and then clambered up his leg, sinking her claws into the fabric. Murtagh barely paused in his stride as she made it to his shoulder. Reaching up, he freed the string from around her and pulled the mess back into a ball, tucking it into his pocket.

The princess followed a moment later, looking overhead as Nasreen snorted a puff of black smoke. Jutting ahead, she landed out of sight, just beyond the dining tent where Thorn and Andrar were lounging in the sight of the rest of the Varden. It had been some time now since the battle, and the soldiers and civilians alike were settling into contentment that the dragons weren't going to eat them.

When the Riders approached, Thorn shifted and turned toward them, yawning and rising to his feet. At the sight of him, the tiny dragoness launched from Murtagh's shoulder and glided to Thorn, scrambling up his leg and perching herself on the top of his head. She chattered down at them all for a moment before sitting down, licking at her claws.

"Can you three keep her out of trouble while I go find dinner?" Murtagh asked, folding his arms.

 _I will make sure she is fed,_ Nasreen assured him, twisting about and nuzzling at the hatchling. Her soothing tone sent a shiver down his spine. _And kept out of harm's way._

"Thank you," he said, exchanging glances with Kieran before trotting off.

They found Mark sitting alone, once more pouring over a scroll at Nasuada's table. He glanced up toward them as the pavilion quieted upon their arrival and motioned for them to join him. Kieran moved first, gliding through the crowded tables, smiling at soldiers she recognized the faces of and waving before sitting down beside the dark haired man. Murtagh sat on her other side and reached for a plate, glaring at Mark as he moved it away.

"Wipe the bitterness off your face," he muttered. "I don't have you sit with me just for my own enjoyment. You need to look the part as well."

Clenching his jaw, Murtagh cracked a smile and chuckled aloud before whispering back to him. "If you don't let me eat, I'm going to stab you."

"Better." Mark grinned back, sliding the plate to him, "I don't care if you're miserable, at least don't look it."

"I don't know why you'd be miserable, everyone is so nice it seems," Kieran said, looking between them. "No one has tried to kill me, as far as I know. I surely don't get to do whatever I want, but it's freedom enough. I have to get my own food, and I certainly don't have access to the finer amenities I did at the castle and- oh!"

Murtagh blinked, "Yes Kieran?"

"Natalie."

"Your maid? What about her?"

"She's all alone in the castle. I didn't even think about it. What is she going to do?"

"I'm sure she'll be fine..."

"Without something to keep her busy she gets into all sorts of things, rearranging my books, dusting and moving everything in my room. If I don't give her something to sew or fix, she'll be at it for days. Once, I didn't say anything to her and she'd nearly cleaned the whole castle."

Murtagh watched her for a moment, "Kieran, I believe cleaning will be the least of her worries."

"What do you mean?"

Realizing the outcome of Murtagh's next comment was about to put the princess in tears, Mark interrupted him. "I'm sure she'll be trying to keep everything in order just for you. I'm sure it's a heavy burden."

"It is. I'm very particular you see," she started, going on while Mark exchanged glances with Murtagh.

 _Were you about to tell her that her handmaid is probably murdered by now?_

 _Galbatorix would have gone looking for someone to blame, and if Kieran betrayed him, then I don't see why he wouldn't have tried to fish out information from her maid._

 _Here I am, trying to make you two look important and necessary, and you're about to make the princess cry in front of all these soldiers?_ Mark stared at him incredulously.

 _She's not going to cry. This woman kills people without mercy, she won't be upset by her_ handmaid _._ Murtagh assured him, chomping into another piece of meat. _Watch._ He swallowed and looked at Kieran, "You do realize, Kieran, that Natalie was your personal maid, right?"

"Of course," she scoffed.

"And that when you left, she was probably targeted for information on your... sudden absence?"

"What?"

"Galbatorix probably tried to get information out of her."

"You don't think... she's a _maid_ , he wouldn't do anything to her!"

"Your mother was a maid, Kieran," he said quietly.

Her lip quivered for half a moment before her eyes welled with tears, "You don't think..."

Mark shot the Rider a look and sighed, turning to Kieran, reaching over and taking her hand in his, grasping her fingers firm and gently. He met her gaze steadily, conveying every ounce of sympathy he could as he spoke, "From what I know, the help is always more clever than they let on. And if she had nothing to hide, then she'll be fine. Did you tell her any of this before you left?"

Shaking her head, Kieran muttered, "No, we were planning on going back until the battle had all but started."

"Good, then she's completely innocent. I'm sure she's fine."

"What if she's not? What if... she could have died and it's because she was _my_ maid. That's not fair!"

Mark avoided glances starting their way, inching his chair closer to her, speaking gently. "No, it's not fair, but there's nothing you can do for her now except make sure that you retake the castle. War stops for no one. We need to make sure we end it before other innocent people are hurt."

"I never thought about it hurting Natalie."

"Of course not, you were at the heart of the Empire, nothing should have been able to touch either of you. But by switching sides, this is what happened." Mark watched her, relaxing. "Kieran, are you going to be alright?"

She nodded slightly, wiping at her face with her sleeve. "I'm going to go find Nasreen," she stated, standing and walking briskly from the pavilion. Leaning back in his seat, Mark rubbed his face and sighed.

* * *

"Undbitr," he stopped walking, staring at the sword, uttering its name aloud. "Where did you get that?"

Stopping, she turned and looked at him, following his gaze to her hip. With her eyes wide, she drew the sword from its sheath and stared. The aquamarine blade glittered in the sunlight. Mariah clenched her teeth as her mind reeled, forgotten memories snapping back into place. "I stole it." She ran her fingers down the flat edge of the blade, "From Galbatorix… he had so many…"

Eragon stared at her, "You stole it."

"What is rightfully mine… and charmed it using its own stored magic, so that he wouldn't know, I hid them in plain sight and took them with me when we left for the battle. I couldn't leave it there you know. I just…" she felt herself shaking and sat down on a nearby rock. "He always talked about it. And then you got Saphira."

"Brom's dragon was also blue?" The question was more of a realization as he remembered Rhünon matched the blades to their respective dragons. "It's stunning," he said, watching the blade.

She nodded standing and removing the sheath from her side. "I want you to wield it. The blade really is too heavy for me, and it matches Saphira." She stood in front of him, holding the blade within it's sheath firmly in her right hand, arm fully extended. Her face was set, her jaw clenched.

"Aye it does, but Brom was your grandfather, not mine."

"No, he would have wanted you to have it. Mark is no Rider, and it only makes sense… the sword at your hip is orange and gold, which is one reason why I chose it. You should take the blue one. Kieran's silver sword and rose-colored dragon always bothers me…"

He hesitated, gently lowering Sloan to the ground. Eragon untied the sheath from his waist and traded with her. Immediately, he felt the difference in weight, Undbitr was heavier, and longer. The sword's handle fit him better as he gripped it in his gloved hand. Looking up, he parted his lips to thank her, but found she had turned away. Ancalë was already strapped to her hip, and she was surveying the landscape from atop the rock.

"We should rest somewhere safe for the night, where there is some shelter," she pointed off a ways tracing the mountain foothills. "We can make it to the foot of those hills by sundown, I'm sure there's a safe spot somewhere near there."

There were few words spoken between them during the remainder of the day. Exhausted, focused on the horizon, and not being seen despite Eragon's gleaming metal armor was more important than discussion. At dusk, they had reached the hills and found a grouping of dead trees where they could make camp.

Eragon's stomach gurgled.

Raising an eyebrow, Mariah stood from where she had been crouched by the fire. "I'll go hunt something down."

He winced, "No… wait."

"You're not going to find any food out here, you need to eat. It's not a choice Shadeslayer." She stretched, and grabbed up Ancalë. "There is a bigger price to pay than your promise to yourself not to eat meat. I'll be back shortly." Then, she left, leaving him to grapple with the thought of taking the life of a small animal in order to keep them all alive.

Sighing quietly, Mariah surveyed the barren desert. "It's going to be difficult to find anything out here. Even those trees were devoid of life." Stretching out her mind, she carefully hunted for any morsel she could find. Some snakes, a handful of lizards, and a colony of rabbit-like creatures presented themselves to her. She paused, considering for a moment. She didn't want to disturb the balance of predators and prey in the area too much, and so killed one snake, two of the lizards, and four rodents. Stepping lightly, she took up the snake and lizards from their rocky crevices, then drew out the family of rodents from their den with a spell and carried them all back to camp, trying to ignore the warmth of the rabbit-creature's fluffy fur against her skin.

When she returned, Eragon still seemed to be struggling with the thought. She shook her head and skinned the creatures, cleaning the meat from the offal deep enough to hide it from scavengers. "I can't eat that," she heard him say.

Dropping her head, she sighed, "Yes, you can. You've eaten it before."

"That was before Ellesméra, I can't."

"You will." She put the meats on sharpened sticks and settled them against the flames of the fire she had made. "It's not going to have much taste, there's no salt or seasonings anywhere nearby. But it's food all the same." When one of the smaller rodents was done cooking, she handed him a stick and glared at him hard. Eragon held the meat in front of his mouth. He grimaced and would have remained locked in the grip of his revulsion if not for Mariah's quiet growl, "Eat."

He obeyed the harsh command and ate. The initial bite was the worst; it stuck in his throat, and the taste of hot grease threatened to make him sick. Then he shivered and dry-swallowed twice, and the urge passed. After that, it was easier. He was actually grateful the meat was rather bland, for the lack of flavor helped him to forget what he was chewing.

Relieved, Mariah chomped into her dinner, feeling self-conscious about her ravenous appetite. It was plain, and that she was sorry for, but warm food in her stomach filled her with satisfaction all the same. Though certain Eragon wasn't about to judge her for eating quickly, she still felt terrible about having to force him to do something he had clearly sworn off.

"…perhaps moderation is a wiser policy than zealotry." She flicked her gaze up to him as he finished eating, throwing the second stick, that had held a lizard, into the flames.

A small smile touched her lips, "Let's just hope you don't get sick from suddenly eating something you haven't for a while." She watched as he nodded, then turned his attention to Sloan, studying the man.

"I can't just let him go," he murmured.

"Katrina would be devastated if she knew he still lived. I would not want to force her to choose between him and Roran."

"I refuse to become an executioner," he said, turning his blue gaze toward her. "What do I know about the law?"

"The rest of the world would not think you cruel for it. They would consider it justice. You are in a position to make the law now, remember that. However, you and I do not have to agree."

"We don't." He shook his head, walking over to Sloan. "Vakna."

With a jolt, Sloan woke, scrabbling at the ground with his sinewy hands. The remnants of his eyelids quivered as, by instinct, the butcher tried to lift them and look at his surroundings. Instead, he remained trapped in his own personal night.

Eragon said, "Here, eat this." He thrust one of the sticks towards the butcher so he could smell the meat.

Sloan touched his torn wrists and ankles and appeared confused to discover that his fetters were gone. "Where am I?"

"The elves – and also the Riders in days gone by – called this place Mírnathor. The dwarves refer to it as Werghadn, and humans as the Gray Heath. If that does not answer your question, then perhaps it will if I say we are a number of leagues southeast of Helgrind, where you were imprisoned."

Sloan mouthed the word _Helgrind_. "You rescued me?"

"I did."

"What about-"

"Leave your questions. Eat this first."

His harsh tone acted like a whip on the butcher; Sloan cringed and reached with fumbling fingers for the lizard. Releasing it, Eragon retreated to his place next to the fire. After an initial, tentative lick to determine what it was Eragon had given him, Sloan dug his teeth into the lizard and ripped a thick gobbet from the carcass. With each bite, he crammed as much flesh into his mouth as he could and only chewed once or twice before swallowing and repeating the process. He stripped each bone clean with the efficiency of a man who possessed an intimate understanding of how animals were constructed and what was the quickest way to disassemble them. The bones he dropped into a neat pile on his left.

As the final morsel of meat from the lizard's tail vanished down Sloan's gullet, Eragon handed him one of the rodents. Sloan grunted in thanks and continued to gorge himself, making no attempt to wipe the fat from his mouth and chin.

The rodent was too much for him to finish. He stopped two ribs above the bottom of the chest cavity and placed what was left of the carcass on the cairn of bones. Then he straightened his back, drew his hand across his lips, tucked his long hair behind his ears, and said, "Thank you, strange sir, for your hospitality. It has been so long since I had a proper meal, I think I prize your food even above my own freedom… If I may ask, do you know of my daughter, Katrina, and what has happened to her? She was imprisoned with me in Helgrind." His voice contained a complex mixture of emotions: respect, fear, and submission as to his daughter's fate; and determination as unyielding as the mountains of the Spine. The one element Eragon expected to hear but did not was the sneering disdain Sloan had used with him during their encounters in Carvahall.

Mariah exchanged a glance with Eragon, shaking her head. _I would not divulge more than necessary._

"She is with Roran."

Sloan gaped. "Roran! How did he get here? Did the Ra'zac capture him as well? Or did-"

Mariah cut him off, "The Ra'zac and their steeds are dead."

He started at the second voice, alert and suddenly worried. "You _killed_ them? How?... Who-" For an instant, Sloan froze, as if he were stuttering with his entire body, and then his cheeks and mouth went slack and his shoulders caved in and he clutched at a bush to steady himself. He shook his head. "No, no, no… _No…_ It can't be. The Ra'zac spoke of this; they demanded answers I didn't have, but I _thought…_ That is, who would believe…?" His sides heaved with such violence, he appeared as if he would hurt himself. In a gasping whisper, as if he were forced to speak after being punched in the middle, Sloan said, "You can't be _Eragon_."

A sense of doom and destiny descended upon Eragon. He felt as if he were the instrument of those two merciless overlords, and he replied in accordance, slowing his speech so each word struck like a hammer blow and carried all the weight of his dignity, station, and anger. "I am Eragon and far more. I am Argetlam and Shadeslayer and Firesword. My dragon is Saphira, she who is also known as Bjartskular and Flametongue. We were taught by Brom, who was a Rider before us, and by the dwarves and by the elves. We have fought the Urgals and a Shade. We serve the Varden and the peoples of Alagaësia. And I have brought you here, Sloan Aldensson, to pass judgment upon you for murdering Byrd and for betraying Carvahall to the Empire."

"You lie! You cannot be-"

"Sloan." Mariah's voice cut through his eternal darkness. "You know he does not lie. Eragon is the only thing standing between you and your death. I decided what I wanted your fate to be the moment I learned of your treachery. The pain you have caused your daughter, all of Carvahall… I would condemn you in a heartbeat, and carry out the sentence myself without a single stroke of sorrow in my heart."

"I have heard your name uttered alongside the likes of Morzansson and Shadeslayer, but I did not realize it was you, Dawnsinger. I did not know it was Mariah and Eragon from Carvahall... haunting me from the past. Understand this, as a friend of my dear daughter: I did what I did for Katrina's sake and nothing else."

Eragon spoke again, "I know. That's the only reason you're still alive."

"Do what you want with me, then. I don't care, so long as she's safe… Well, go on! What's it to be? A beating? A branding? They already had my eyes, so one of my hands? Or will you leave me to starve or to be recaptured by the Empire?"

"I have not decided yet."

 _I know you wish to stay your hand, but I want so badly to see his blood drain from his corpse. What you are taking for bravery is nothing more than stupidity. He is throwing away his life because he knows it no longer means anything._

 _His life still holds meaning, perhaps not what he had originally intended, but it is not yet over if we do not wish it to be._

 _Then make your decision_. Her tone had softened, _You know my opinion, but you need to make your own choice._ She all but withdrew from his mind to let him think, busying herself with tending the fire. After several long moments, she heard him whisper three words in the ancient language so faint, she thought for a moment she imagined him say them.

Sloan stirred, his hands gripped his thighs – and his expression became one of unease.

The hair on the back of her neck stood up, and watched the two of them. How? How had he done it? Mariah stared at Eragon, spellbound by his fortune. _Hold._

He winced mentally, glancing at her. _I didn't-_

 _No, you must be very careful what you do next._ Her eyes danced with fire in them. _You are on a very dangerous ledge right now._

 _I... I've never-_

 _-no, I know you haven't. Galbatorix is the only one I know of who has learned the true names of anyone other than himself. Sloan is set in his ways, I can see how you were able to guess, but… you did so quickly, so quickly… I'm startled._

Eragon stood abruptly, walking out across the starlit land beyond. When Mariah moved to follow, questioning him, he halted. His tone was less commanding than pleading. _Wait here, please?_

She lowered herself back to the ground, watching him leave. Once he was out of sight, she leaned up against one of the dead trees and twisted her fingers about one another, whispering a quiet spell. Drawing water from the ground, she formed the droplets into a figure, then another. A bird, a horse, then a dragon. She watched the water swirl a few times around her open hands, then muttered a single word. The dragon froze into ice and dropped into her silver palm, like a figurine made of glass or crystal. She set it down on the ground, watching the statue melt and seep once more into the dirt.

Eragon returned some time later, looking as though his mind was elsewhere. She watched as he stopped and squatted in front of the butcher, steadying himself with one hand on the ground. "Hear me well, for I don't intend to repeat myself. You did what you did because of your love for Katrina, or so you say. Whether you admit it or not, I believe you also had other, baser motives in wanting to separate her from Roran: anger… hate… vindictiveness… and your own hurt."

Sloan's lips hardened into thin white lines. "You wrong me."

"No, I don't think so. Since my conscience prevents me from killing you, your punishment is to be the most terrible I could invent short of death. I'm convinced that what you said before is true, that Katrina is more important to you than anything else. Therefore, your punishment is this: you shall not see, touch, or talk with your daughter again, even unto your dying day, and you shall live with the knowledge that she is with Roran and they are happy together, without you."

Sloan inhaled through his clenched teeth. " _That_ is your punishment? Ha! You cannot enforce it; you have no prison to put me in."

"I'm not finished. I will enforce it by having you swear oaths in the elves' tongue – in the language of truth and magic – to abide by the terms of your sentence."

"You can't force me to give my word," Sloan growled. "Not even if you torture me."

"I can, and I won't torture you. Furthermore, I will lay upon you a compulsion to travel northward until you reach the elf city of Ellesméra, which stands deep in the heart of Du Weldenvarden. You can try to resist the urge if you want, but no matter how long you fight it, the spell will irritate you like an unscratched itch until you obey its demands and travel to the elves' realm."

"Don't you have the guts to kill me yourself?" asked Sloan. "You're too much of a coward to put a blade to my neck, so you'll make me wander the wilderness, blind and lost, until the weather or the beasts do me in?" He spat to the left of Eragon. "You're nothing but the yellow-bellied offspring of a canker-ridden bunter. You're a bastard, you are, and an unlicked cub; a dung-splattered, tallow-faced rock-gnasher; a puking villain and a noxious toad; the runty, mewling spawn of a greasy sow. Your whore mother left you to die as an infant in the dead of winter. I wouldn't give you my last crust if you were starving, or a drop of water if you were burning, or a beggar's grave if you were dead. You have pus for marrow and fungus for brains, and you're a scug-backed cheek-biter!"

Eragon gripped Mariah's wrist as she tapped her blade against his chin. Her mouth was pulled into a sneer and her face was red. _I should kill him now, he's begging for it._

 _Exactly. It would be too easy to dispatch him. Lower your sword,_ he said gently, squeezing her wrist.

Smirking, Sloan felt the blade against his skin. "Come on then, end it girl." He tried to lean into Mariah's sword, egging her on.

His words had been more than swearing, and insulted Eragon, which had infuriated her, yes. More than that, he had insulted Selena; and though she had never met the woman, she knew enough about her to know that she didn't deserve to be spoken about in such a way. She had given Mariah two of her best friends, and knew that Murtagh wouldn't have hesitated in murdering the butcher for his words. Eragon was right; he was trying to goad them into killing him. He would rather endure death than life without Katrina.

Eragon said, "Bastard I may be, but not a murderer." Sloan drew a sharp breath. Before he could resume his torrent of abuse, Eragon added: "Wherever you go, you shall not want for food, nor will wild animals attack you. I will place certain enchantments around you that will keep men and beasts from troubling you and will cause animals to bring you sustenance when you need it."

"You can't do this," whispered Sloan. Even in the starlight, Eragon could see the last remnants of color drain from his skin, leaving him bone white. "You don't have the means. You don't have the right."

"I am a Dragon Rider. I have as much right as any king or queen."

Mariah stared at him, her lips parting slightly in surprise at his words and commanding tone. He spoke the butcher's true name, watching him writhe and howl in agony. Eragon stood in front of him, transfixed by his reaction, though his face betrayed little in the way of expression. It seemed strange, to see him so in control of his emotions. As he made Sloan swear his oaths in the ancient language, she watched from across the campfire. The oaths ensured that he would never meet or contact Katrina again. He wept and cried and wailed and griped, refusing until Eragon invoked his true name again, then continued.

The moon had passed overhead by the time he had finished with the spells, wavering slightly, drunk with weariness. "Finished," he said.

Another moan emanated from Sloan, then he said, "…only a piece of rope. I didn't mean to… Ismira… No, no, please, no…" The butcher's ramblings subsided, and in the intervening silence, Eragon placed his hand on Sloan's upper arm. Sloan stiffened at the contact. "Eragon…," he whispered. "Eragon… I am blind, and you send me to walk the land… to walk the land alone. I am forsaken and forsworn. I know who I am, and I cannot bear it. Help me; kill me! Free me of this agony."

Mariah stood and, with the full weight of her body, pulled a branch from one of the trees. She uttered a quiet spell, stripping the wood down and fashioning a simple but elegant staff. Twirling it once in her hand, she weighed it and seemed satisfied. After a few more incantations, charming the piece of wood with a few reinforcements and wards to save it from weather, and fire, and breakage, she walked back to the two men, speaking so Sloan could hear, "This will help guide you to Ellesméra." Mariah tapped the walking stick against Sloan's hand. The butcher clutched at it, and shouted up at her.

"Dawnsinger! Kill me! I know you wish to."

"Eragon has made his choice," she said simply, kneeling in front of him. The butcher ranted on about how cruel they were, to force this upon him. "Sloan… I will tell you something not many people know. Listen." He quitted his wailing for a moment to listen to her, his face turned towards her quiet, soft voice. "A person can change their true name. Often it changes with age and experiences. There are many things that can make it change – make you change."

Sloan made no reply.

Eragon shook his head, crossed to the other side of camp and stretched out his full length on the ground. His eyes already closed, he mumbled a spell that would wake him before dawn, drifting. Mariah let out a breath, took one last look at Sloan and followed suit, falling into a half-sleep, staring up at the stars.

* * *

Mark paused, knocking on the pole between the two pieces of fabric making up the doorway to the tent. A trill of a chirrup, followed by a soft call of, "proceed" chimed through to him. He bowed his head, entering the sparse tent. Arya was sitting on a stool, reading and petting the scales of the small green dragon hatchling. Her eyes flashed up to him as he entered and then motioned silently to the chair across from her.

Allowing her several minutes of quiet to finish reading, he pulled a small cloth bag from his waist and opened it on the table. The hatchling turned its attention away from Arya and went to Mark, who started tempting it with small strips of meat. He smiled slightly at the dragon and let him enjoy his meal. Finally, Arya rolled up the scroll, tucking it into a satchel before folding her hands together, the flash of silver disappearing as she pressed her palms together, observing the two interacting.

"No one has seen you in a while," he commented vaguely, watching the dragon push against his hand, purring. "They fear you've left or have fallen ill."

"No," she said. "I am not. I merely thought it a good idea to spend time with Firnen until I felt comfortable in his presence."

"Firnen." Mark tasted the name, realizing he had expected nothing less elvish. "It suits him."

Arya hummed agreeably before Firnen turned his attention back to her. He flapped his wings and trotted across the table, his tail flailing. "And you believe the other hatchling belongs to Kendra?"

"I have little doubt," he nodded. "From how the previous Riders have been chosen so far, fate has been very strange indeed."

She watched him evenly for a long moment, "I have a question - and, do tell me if you deem it unacceptable." Mark met her gaze, enduring the gaze of the elven princess's piercing eyes. "By your suggestion the previous Riders have been chosen because of their blood. Do you wish that one of them had hatched for you? Did you think one of them would hatch for you?"

If anyone else were to ask, even his sister, he would have cracked a smile and snorted, insisting that he was unphased by the notion. As always, Arya demanded his every attention. Her wit was outmatched and dishonesty not only seemed false in her presence, but scrutinized. In turn, he had never lied to her, "Threyja er néiat wyrda."

"It is not," she agreed.

"I cannot tell myself I do not believe I am fated to become a Rider. I would never force a bond, but some part of me questions my existence. Questions if I should have been with Mariah, that day she was spirited away from Tronjheim. If we were meant to become Galbatorix's new Forsworn, as our parents were. We were strong long before she became a Rider and we started our journey. At times it keeps me awake at night. When I saw the two dragon hatchlings with Murtagh and Kieran, I questioned my fate. He had already touched the black one, but Firnen had refused to get near enough to let someone bond with him. I wasn't about to force my hand to his scales." Mark tilted his head slightly as Firnen turned his amber eyes towards him. "No... he had already made his decision, and a good one at that. Of all the people in the world, to chose the princess of the elves." He chuckled quietly under his breath, "A good decision indeed."

Arya watched him evenly before reaching over and touching his hand with her silvered palm. "I am sorry, I did not mean to upset you."

"I only upset myself," he assured her, glancing at her hand. "Did your gedwëy ignasia burn when he touched you? Mariah fainted..."

Removing her hand, she shook her head, "No. It was warm, like sunlight."

"Perhaps it is different with Elves then." He cleared his throat, examining the wood grain in the table, "I came to offer my assistance, if you had any questions about Firnen or your bond. Though, perhaps it was presumptuous of me to assume I would know anything you do not about your dragon. I forget you are not my sister - or Eragon, new to magic and Riders."

"I appreciate your offer Mark," she assured him. "But no, I do not believe I have any questions for you. Least not so far."

"Then I will leave you." Mark stood fluidly, if a little abrupt. Arya blinked, but otherwise remained still, watching his motion. "Call on me if you have any need." Inclining his head, he saw himself out.

* * *

The Gray Heath was cold, dark, and inhospitable when a low buzz sounded inside Eragon's head. "Letta," he said, and the buzzing ceased. Groaning as he stretched sore muscles, he got to his feet and lifted his arms over his head, shaking them to get the blood flowing. His back felt so bruised, he hoped it would be a long while before he had to swing a weapon again. He lowered his arms and then looked for Sloan.

The butcher was gone.

Eragon smiled as he saw a set of tracks, accompanied by the round imprint of the staff, leading away from the camp. The trail was confused and meandering, and yet its general direction was northward. "Good luck."

Mariah heard him speak and pulled herself to her feet, rubbing at her face. They readied themselves in silence, making sure the fire was out completely before starting their trek across the Gray Heath at a run. Cresting the top of a large hill, Mariah's feet slowed to a stop as she stared to the southwest. She traced the horizon, looking for a glimmer of diamond in the morning sunlight. Clenching her jaw, she turned and saw Eragon watching her.

"We need to go," she said, pushing past him, her eyes glassy.

He looked where she had been staring and let out a breath, looking down at the sword on his waist. Gripping the handle of Undbitr, he silently promised to visit Brom's tomb, when Galbatorix was no longer hunting them.

* * *

With Love, As Always,

Mariah Dawnsinger

Threyja er néiat wyrda. - Desire is not fate.


	7. Ch 87: Resolve

**Chapter Eighty-Seven: Resolve**

"But we are your people!"

Fadawar, a tall, high-nosed, black-skinned man, spoke with the same heavy emphasis and altered vowels that Nasuada remembered hearing during her childhood in Farthen Dûr, when emissaries from her father's tribe would arrive and she would sit on Ajihad's lap and dozed while they talked and smoked cardus weed.

Nasuada gazed up at Fadawar and wished she were six inches taller so that she could look the warlord and his four retainers straight in the eyes. Still, she was accustomed to men looming over her. She found it rather disconcerting to be among a group of her people who were as dark as she was. It was a novel experience not to be the object of people's curious stares and whispered comments.

She was standing in front of the carved chair where she held her audiences – one of the only solid chairs the Varden had brought with them on their campaign – inside her red command pavilion. The sun was close to setting, and its rays filtered through the right side of the pavilion as through stained glass and gave the contents a ruddy glow. A long, low table covered with scattered reports and maps occupied one-half of the pavilion.

Just outside the entrance to the large tent, she knew the six members of her personal guard – two humans, two dwarves, and two Urgals – were waiting with drawn weapons, ready to attack if they received the slightest indication she was in peril. Jormundur, her oldest and most trusted commander, had saddled her with guards since the day Ajihad died, but never so many for so long. However, the day after the battle on the Burning Plains, Jormundur expressed his deep and abiding concern for her safety, a concern, he said, that often kept him up at nights with a burning stomach. As an assassin had tried to kill her in Aberon, and Mariah had actually accomplished the deed in regard to King Hrothgar less than a week past, it was Jormundur's opinion that Nasuada ought to create a force dedicated to her own defense. As the members of her guard changed every six hours, the total number of warriors assigned to protect Nasuada was four-and-thirty, including the ten additional warriors who remained in readiness to replace their comrades in case of sickness, injury, or death.

It was Nasuada who had insisted upon recruiting the force from each of the three mortal races arrayed against Galbatorix. By doing so, she hoped to foster greater solidarity among them, as well as to convey that she represented the interests of all the races under her command, not just the humans. She would have included the elves as well, but at the moment, Arya was the only elf who fought alongside the Varden and their allies, and the twelve spellcasters Islanzadí had sent to protect Eragon had yet to arrive. To Nasuada's disappointment, her human and dwarf guards had been hostile to the Urgals they served with, a reaction she anticipated but had been unable to avert or mitigate. It would, she knew, take more than once shared battle to ease the tensions between races that had fought and hated each other for more generations than she cared to count. Still, she viewed it as encouraging that the warriors chose to name their corps the Nighthawks, for the title was a play upon both her coloring and the fact that the Urgals invariably referred to her as Lady Nightstalker.

Although she would never admit it to Jormundur, Nasuada had quickly come to appreciate the increased sense of security her guards provided. In addition to being masters of their chosen weapons – whether they were the humans' swords, the dwarves' axes, or the Urgals' eccentric collection of instruments – many of the warriors were skilled spellweavers. And they had all sworn their undying loyalty to her in the ancient language – a precaution Mark took upon himself to instill. Since the day the Nighthawks first assumed their duties, they had not left Nasuada alone with another person, save for Farica, her handmaid.

That was, until now.

Nasuada had sent them out of the pavilion because she knew her meeting with Fadawar might lead to the type of bloodshed the Nighthawks' sense of duty would require them to prevent. Even so, she was not entirely defenseless. She had a dagger hidden in the folds of her dress, and an even smaller knife in the bodice of her undergarments, and the prescient witch-child, Elva, was standing just behind the curtain that backed Nasuada's chair, ready to interceded if need be. Brushing against her mind, was Mark, close enough to be at her side in a moment's notice, and aware enough of the others' presence to cast spells to protect her.

Fadawar tapped his four-foot-long scepter against the ground. The chased rod was made of solid gold, as was his fantastic array of jewelry: gold bangles covered his forearms; a breastplate of hammered gold armored his chest; long, thick chains of gold hung around his beck; embossed disks of white gold stretched the lobes of his ears; and upon the top of his head rested a resplendent gold crown of such huge proportions, Nasuada wondered how Fadawar's neck could support the weight without buckling and how such a monumental piece of architecture remained fixed in place.

It seemed one would have to bolt the edifice, which was at least two and a half feet tall, to its bony bedrock in order to keep it from toppling over.

Fadawar's men were garbed in the same fashion, although less opulently. The gold they wore served to proclaim not only their wealth but also the status and deeds of each individual and the skill of their tribe's far-famed craftsmen. As either nomads or city dwellers, the dark-skinned peoples of Alagaësia had long been renowned for their quality of their jewelry, which at its best rivaled that of the dwarves.

Nasuada owned several pieces of her own, but she had chosen not to wear them. Her poor raiment could not compete with Fadawar's splendor. Also, she believed it would not be wise to affiliate herself with any one group, no matter how rich or influential, when she had to deal with and speak for all the differing factions of the Varden. If she displayed partiality toward one or another, her ability to control the whole lot of them would diminish.

Which was the basis of her argument with Fadawar.

Fadawar again jabbed his scepter in to the ground. "Blood is the most important thing! First come your responsibilities to your family, then to your tribe, then to your warlord, then to the gods above and below, and only then to your king and to your nation, if you have them. That is how Unulukuna intended men to live, and that is how we should live if we want to be happy. Are you brave enough to spit on the shoes of the Old One? If a man does not help his family, whom can he depend upon to help him? Friends are fickle, but family is forever."

"You ask me," said Nasuada, "to give positions of power to your fellow kinsmen because you are my mother's cousin and because my father was born among you. This I would be happy to do if your kinsmen could fulfill those positions better than anyone else in the Varden, but nothing you have said thus far has convinced me that is so. And before you squander more of your gilt-tongued eloquence, you should know that appeals based upon our shared blood are meaningless to me. I would give your request greater consideration if ever you had done more to support my father than send trinkets and empty promises to Farthen Dûr. Only now that victory and influence are mine have you made yourself known to me. Well, my parents are dead, and I say I have no family but myself. You are my people, yes, but nothing more."

Fadawar narrowed his eyes and lifted his chin and said, "A woman's pride is always without sense. You shall fail without our support."

He had switched to his native language, and Nasuada refused to respond in kind. He was not about to undermine her authority, or prove his superiority simply because his tongue was more fluid than her own. "I always welcome new allies," she said. "However, I cannot indulge in favoritism, nor should you have need of it. Your tribes are strong and well gifted. They should be able to rise quickly through the ranks of the Varden without having to rely upon the charity of others. Are you starving dogs to sit whining at my table, or are you men who can feed themselves? If you can, then I look forward to working with you to better the Varden's lot and to defeat Galbatorix."

"Bah!" exclaimed Fadawar, clearly displeased his ploy had not worked against her. "Your offer is as false as you are. We shall not do servants' work; we are the chosen ones. You insult us, you do. You stand there and you smile, but your heart is full of scorpion's poison."

Stifling her anger, Nasuada attempted to calm the warlord. "It was not my intent to cause offense. I was only trying to explain my position. I have no enmity for the wandering tribes, nor have I any special love for them. Is that such a bad thing?"

"It is worse than bad, it is bald-faced treachery! Your father made certain requests of us based upon our relation, and now you ignore our services and turn us away like empty-handed beggars!"

A sense of resignation overwhelmed Nasuada. _So Elva was right – it is inevitable,_ she thought.

 _You can still win the day Nasuada,_ Mark assured her soothingly, kneeling beside Elva, watching the her grimace at him. The sight of the girl, no more than six years old, knowing their defeat was possible felt unnerving. _Their proxy in this war is wanted more than they let on. They too want to be a part of Galbatorix's defeat. To be written in history as too proud to join our cause, or worse yet, cowards that refused to fight at our side is too rich for their blood. You must not let on that we need them, for we will find a way without them._

 _No, we do need them. We need everyone we can get if we're to have the slightest chance of toppling Galbatorix. Even with two more Riders, giving us a total of six, we are outmatched._ A thrill of fear and excitement coursed through her. _If it must be, then I have no reason to maintain this charade. They will join of their own accord or not at all._

 _Be cautious of your next action_ ,Mark said, wrapping his fingers into a fist, grinding his knuckles against his leg.

"The requests my father made to you were not honored half the time."

"We did!"

"You did not. And even if you were telling the truth, the Varden's position is too precarious for me to give you something for nothing. You ask for favors, yet tell me, what do you offer in return? Will you help fund the Varden with your gold and jewels?"

"Not directly, but-"

"Will you give me the use of your craftsmen, free of charge?"

"We could not-"

"How, then, do you intend to earn these boons? You cannot pay with warriors; your men already fight for me, whether in the Varden or in King Orrin's army. Be content with what you have, Warlord, and do not seek more than is rightfully yours."

"You twist the truth to suit your own selfish goals. I seek what is rightfully ours! That is why I am here. You talk and you talk, yet your words are meaningless, for by your actions, you have betrayed us." The bangles on his arms clattered together as he gestured, as if before and audience of thousands. "You admit we are your people. Then do you still follow our customs and worship our gods?"

 _Here is the turning point,_ thought Nasuada.

Mark bit his lip, _I don't know enough about your people to determine what the best course of action is m'lady._

 _If I tell them I do not, we lose every warrior in the Varden and in Orrin's Army._

A smirk touched his lips, _Then I hope you remember at least one thing from me during our time together._

Nasuada nodded slightly in response to both her advisor and Fadawar. "I do," she said.

"Then I say you are unfit to lead the Varden, and as is my right, I challenge you to the Trial of the Long Knives. If you are triumphant, we shall bow to you and never again question your authority. But if you lose, then you shall step aside, and I shall take your place as head of the Varden."

 _That is quite a gamble,_ Mark said, his eyebrows shooting up.

Nasuada noted the spark of glee that lit Fadawar's eyes. _This is what he wanted all along,_ she realized. _He would have invoked the trial even if I had complied with his demands._ She said, "Perhaps I am mistaken, but I thought it was tradition that whoever won assumed command of his rival's tribes, as well as his own. Is that not so?" She almost laughed at the expression of dismay that flashed across Fadawar's face. _You didn't expect me to know that, did you?_

"It is."

"I accept your challenge, then, with the understanding that should I win, your crown and scepter will be mine. Are we agreed?"

 _You are going to gamble the Varden on a game? The soldiers, the men, they are loyal to_ you _, not their leader. You are no longer merely a figurehead Nasuada, we have made sure of that._

 _I am going to triumph against Fadawar with this_ game _._ Nasuada thought to him grimly, her mind flashing through what she knew of the trial.

Fadawar scowled and nodded. "We are." He stabbed his scepter deep enough into the ground that it stood upright by itself, then grasped the first bangle on his left arm and began to work it down over his hand.

Mark swallowed hard, _Nasuada, this is very dangerous. You could very well bleed to death. Please, is there a way for me to take the blade myself? I would do that for you, and for the Varden._

Though touched by his offer, she thought, _No. I could have bled to death on the battlefield, but you are at my back. I trust you will stop me from dying, but do not interfere with the trial. I cannot have you ruining this opportunity simply because you cannot bear to see me in agony._

 _As you wish, Nasuada._ Mark agreed, biting his lip.

In turn Elva shook her head, looking at the magician beside her. _She will lose this battle._ Despair plummeted into his stomach as she spoke to him, blinking and tensing up as he listened to Nasuada.

"Wait," said Nasuada. Going to the table that filled the other side of the pavilion, she picked up a small brass bell and rang it twice, paused, and then rang it four times.

Only a moment or two passed before Farica entered the tent. She cast a frank gaze at Nasuada's guests, then curtsied to the lot of them and said, "Yes, Mistress?"

Nasuada gave Fadawar a nod. "We may proceed." Then she addressed her handmaid: "Help me out of my dress; I don't want to ruin it."

The older woman looked shocked by the request. "Here, Ma'am? In front of these… men?"

"Yes, here. And be quick about it too! I shouldn't have to argue with my own servant." Nasuada was harsher than she meant to be, but her heart was racing and her skin was incredibly, terribly sensitive; the soft linen of her undergarments seemed as abrasive as canvas. Patience and courtesy were beyond her now. All she could concentrate on was her upcoming ordeal.

Nasuada stood motionless as Farica picked and pulled at the laces to her dress, which extended from her shoulder blades to the base of her spine. When the cords were loose enough, Farica lifted Nasuada's arms out of the sleeves, and the shell of bunched fabric dropped in a pile around Nasuada's feet, leaving her standing almost naked in her white chemise. She fought back a shiver as the four warriors examined her, feeling vulnerable beneath their covetous looks. Ignoring them, she stepped forward, out of the dress, and Farica snatched the garment out of the dirt.

Across from Nasauda, Fadawar had been busy removing the bangles from his forearms, revealing the embroidered sleeves on his robes underneath. Finished, he lifted off his massive crown and handed it to one of his retainers. She felt Mark's consciousness abruptly alert and knew he had rushed off.

The sound of voices outside the pavilion delayed further progress. Marching through the entrance, a messenger boy – Jarsha was his name, Nasuada remembered – planted himself a foot or two inside and proclaimed: "King Orrin of Surda, Jörmundur and Marcus of the Varden, Trianna of Du Vrangr Gata, and Naako and Ramusewa of the Inapashunna tribe." Jarsha very pointedly kept his eyes fixed on the ceiling while he spoke.

Snapping about, Harsha departed and the congregation he had announced entered, with Orrin at the vanguard. The king saw Fadawar first and greeted him, saying, "Ah, Warlord, this _is_ unexpected. I trust you and-" Astonishment suffused his youthful face as he beheld Nasuada. "Why, Nasuada, what is the meaning of this?"

"I should like to know that as well," rumbled Jörmundur. He gripped the hilt of his sword and glowered at anyone who dared stare at her too openly. Mark strode to Nasuada, stepping around and behind her with his back to the corner of the room nearest Elva, who was still hidden behind her curtain.

"I have summoned you here," she said, "to witness the Trial of the Long Knives between Fadawar and myself and to afterward speak the truth of the outcome to everyone who asks."

The two gray-haired tribesmen, Naako and Ramusewa, appeared alarmed by her revelation; they leaned close together and began to whisper. Trianna crossed her arms – baring the snake bracelet coiled about one slim wrist – but otherwise betrayed no reaction. Jörmundur swore and said, "Have you taken leave of your senses, my Lady? This is madness. You cannot-"

"I can, and I will."

"My Lady, if you do, I-"

"Your concern is noted, but my decision is final. And I forbid anyone from interfering." She could tell he longed to disobey her order, but as much as he wanted to shield her from harm, loyalty had ever been Jörmundur's predominant trait.

"But, Nasuada," said King Orrin. "This trial, is not it where-"

"It is."

"Blast it, then; why don't you give up this mad venture? You would have to be addled to carry it out."

"I have already given my word to Fadawar."

The mood in the pavilion became even more somber. That she had given her word meant she could not rescind her promise without revealing herself to be an honorless oath-breaker that fair-minded men would have no choice but to curse and shun. Orrin faltered for a moment, but he persisted with his questions: "To what end? That is, if you should lose-"

"If I should lose, the Varden shall no longer answer to me, but to Fadawar."

Nasuada had expected a storm of protest. Instead, there came a silence, wherein the hot anger that animated King Orrin's visage cooled and sharpened and acquired a brittle temper. "I do not appreciate your choice to endanger our entire cause." To Fadawar, he said, "Will you not be reasonable and release Nasuada from her obligation? I will reward you richly if you agree to abandon this ill-conceived ambition of yours."

"I am rich already," said Fadawar. "I have no need for your tainted gold. No, nothing but the Trial of the Long Knives can compensate me for the slander Nasuada aimed at my people and me."

"Bear witness now," said Nasuada.

Orrin clenched tight the folds of his robes, but he bowed and said, "Aye, I will bear witness."

From within their voluminous sleeves, Fadawar's four warriors produced small, hair goat-hide drums. Squatting, they placed the drums between their knees and struck up a furious beat, pounding so fast, their hands were sooty smudges in the air. The rough music obliterated all other sounds, as well as the host of frantic thoughts that had been bedeviling Nasuada. Her heart felt as if it were keeping pace with the manic tempo that assaulted her ears.

Without missing a single note, the oldest of Fadawar's men reached inside his vest and, from there, drew two long, curved knives that he tossed toward the peak of the tent. Nasuada watched the knives tumble half over blade, fascinated by the beauty of their motion.

When it was close enough, she lifted her arm and caught her knife. The opal-studded hilt stung her palm.

Fadawar successfully intercepted his weapon as well.

He then grasped the left cuff of his garment and pushed the sleeve past his elbow. Nasuada kept her eyes fixed upon Fadawar's forearm as he did. His limb was thick and muscled, but she deemed that of no importance; athletic gifts would not help him with their contest. What she looked for instead were the telltale ridges that, if they existed, would lie across the belly of his forearm.

She observed five of them

 _Five!_ she thought. _So many._ Behind her, Mark grimaced. Nasuada felt her confidence waver as she contemplated the evidence of Fadawar's fortitude. The only thing that kept her from losing her nerve altogether was Elva's prediction: the girl had said that, in this, Nasuada would prevail. Nasuada clung to the memory as if it were her only child. _She said I can do this, so I must be able to outlast Fadawar… I must be able to!_

 _Nasuada, if this goes too far, I may not be able to prevent myself from interfering. For your own safety._

 _You will do no such thing Marcus,_ Nasuada snapped at him. _You are my guard, and I am telling you not to interfere._

 _I am your guard by my choice and volition. I am not your servant Nasuada. If you are about to die, because of some scheme concocted by these people, then I will interfere. Destroying Galbatorix is more important than your word being broken by a game like this._ Mark had his arms folded across his chest, his bicep tense as he gripped his arm. _For it is a game, one where whoever bleeds slowest is triumphant. He can afford to lose more blood than you. He is larger, and his body is capable of losing more before he suffers from the effects. I trust your abilities Nasuada, and in Elva's prophecy, however I do not trust him. The quicker you are able to overtake him, the better. The longer this draws out the more likely you are to suffer._

As he was the one who had issued the challenge, Fadawar went first. He held his left arm straight out form his shoulder, palm upward; placed the blade of his knife against his forearm, just below the crease of his elbow; and drew the mirror-polished edge across his flesh. His skin split like an overripe berry, blood welling from within the crimson crevice.

He locked gazes with Nasuada.

She smiled and set her own knife against her arm. The metal was as cold as ice. Theirs was a test of wills to discover who could withstand the most cuts. The belief was that whoever aspired to become the chief of a tribe, or even a warlord, should be willing to endure more pain than anyone else for the sake of his or her people. Otherwise, how could the tribes trust their leaders to place the concerns of the community before their own selfish desire? It was Nasuada's opinion that the practice encouraged extremism, but she also understood the ability of the gesture to earn people's trust. Although the Trial of the Long Knives was specific to the dark-skinned tribes, besting Fadawar would solidify her standing among the Varden and, she hoped, King Orrin's followers.

She offered a quick plea for strength to Gokukara, the praying mantis goddess, and then pulled the knife. The sharpened steel slid through her skin so easily, she struggled to avoid cutting too deeply. She shuddered at the sensation. She wanted to fling the knife away and clutch her wound and scream.

She did none of those things. She kept her muscles slack; if she tensed, the process would hurt all the more. And she kept smiling as, slowly, the blade mutilated her body. The cut ended after only three seconds, but in those seconds, her outraged flesh delivered a thousand shrieking complaints, and each one nearly made her stop. As she lowered the knife, she noticed that while the tribesmen still beat upon their drums, she heard naught but the pounding of her pulse.

Then Fadawar slashed himself a second time. The cords in his neck stood in high relief, and his jugular vein bulged as if it would burst while the knife carved its bloody path.

Nasuada saw it as her turn again. Knowing what to expect only increased her fear.

Mark brushed against her consciousness, his voice soothing. _Your father would be very proud of you for this._

Her smile became genuine as she concentrated upon her desire to preserve the Varden and overthrow Galbatorix: the two causes to which she had devoted her entire being. In her mind, she saw her father and Jörmundur and Eragon and the people of the Varden, and she thought, _For them! I do this for them. I was born to serve, and this is my service._

She made the incision.

A moment later, Fadawar opened up a third gash on his forearm, as did Nasuada on her own.

The fourth cut followed soon thereafter.

And the fifth…

A strange lethargy overtook Nasuada. She was so very tired, and cold as well. _Nasuada._ She could hear Mark, realizing he had been true in his deduction of the trial. Whoever fainted first from loss of blood lost, not who had the least amount of pain tolerance. Shifting streams of it ran across her wrist and down her fingers, splashing into the thick pool by her feet. _Nasuada, hold on. He will not last much longer. You have carried the Varden from Farthen Dûr to Surda, convinced King Orrin to assist the Varden, survived an assassin, and led a victory against Galbatorix's army where there was no belief we could do so. Finish this!_

With a howl, Fadawar succeeded in completing his sixth cut. "Best that, you feckless witch!" he shouted over the noise of the drums, and dropped to one knee.

She did.

Fadawar trembled as he transferred his knife from his right hand to his left; tradition dictated a maximum of six cuts per arm, else you risked severing the veins and tendons close to the wrist. As Nasuada imitated his movement, King Orrin sprang between them and said, "Stop! I won't allow this to continue. You're going to kill yourselves."

Mark stepped in front of the king as he reached toward Nasauda, blocking him from touching her. "Don't meddle," she growled between her teeth, glaring up at them. Setting his jaw, Mark escorted the king back toward the entrance of the pavilion.

Now Fadawar started on his right forearm, releasing a spray of blood from his rigid muscles. _He's clenching_ , she realized. She hoped his mistake would be enough to break him.

Nasuada could not help herself; she uttered a wordless cry when the knife parted her skin.

 _Do you need me to help you, Nasuada?_ Mark asked, _Before you drive the blade too far._

 _No_ , she insisted. The razor edge burned like a white-hot wire. Halfway through the cut, her traumatized left arm twitched. The knife swerved as a result, leaving her with a long, jagged laceration twice as deep as the others. Her breath stopped while she weathered the agony. _I can't go on,_ she thought. _I can't… I can't! It's too much to bear. I'd rather die…. Oh please, let it end!_

 _You will persevere,_ Mark assured her, beside her again, watching the cuts with his sharp gaze, trying to judge how much more she would be able to take. Time was running out.

For the eighth time, Fadwar positioned his blade above one of his forearms, and there he held it, the pale metal suspended a quarter inch away from his sable skin. He remained thus as sweat dripped over his eyes and his wounds shed ruby tears. It appeared as though his courage might have failed him, but then he snarled and, with a quick yank, sliced his arm.

His hesitation bolstered Nasuada's flagging strength. A fierce exhilaration overtook her, transmuting her pain into an almost pleasurable sensation. She matched Fadawar's effort and then, spurred onward by her sudden, heedless disregard for her own well-being, brought the knife down again.

"Best _that_ ," she whispered.

 _Should have done that sooner,_ Mark thought, watching Fadawar's face contort.

The prospect of having to make two cuts in a row – one to equal the number of Nasuada's and one to advance the contest – seemed to intimidate Fadawar. He blinked, licked his lips, and adjusted his grip on his knife three times before he raised the weapon over his arm.

His tongue darted out and moistened his lips again.

As spasm distorted his left hand, and the knife dropped from his contorted fingers, burying itself upright in the ground.

He picked it up. Underneath his robe, his chest rose and fell with frantic speed. Lifting the knife, he touched it to his arm; it promptly drew a small trickle of blood. Fadawar's jaw knotted and writhed, and then a shudder ran the length of his spine and he doubled over, pressing his injured arms against his belly. "I submit," he said.

The drums stopped. The ensuing silence lasted for only an instant before King Orrin, Jörmundur, and the others filled the pavilion with their overlapping exclamations.

Nasuada paid no attention to their remarks. _Mark._ He wrapped an arm securely around her waist, pulling her up and into her chair behind her before twisting in front of her, kneeling. She strove to remain conscious as her vision dimmed and flickered; the last thing she wanted to do was pass out in front of the tribesmen.

"My Lady, may I tend to you?" asked Farica, her expression both concerned and hesitant, as if she were uncertain how Nasuada would react.

Nasuada nodded her approval.

As Farica began to wind strips of linen around her arms, Naako and Ramusewa approached. They bowed, and Ramusewa said, "Never before has anyone endured so many cuts in the Trial of the Long Knives. Both you and Fadawar proved your mettle, but you are undoubtedly the victor. We shall tell our people of your achievement, and they shall give you their fealty."

"Thank you," said Nasuada. She closed her eyes as the throbbing in her arms increased.

"My Lady."

Around her, Nasuada heard a confused medley of sounds, which she made no effort to decipher, preferring instead to retreat deep inside herself, where her pain was no longer so immediate and menacing.

Mark waited for Fadawar and his men to leave before he took Nasuada's hands, pushing surge of energy into her. In turn, her eyes flicked open and she stared down at him. _Can I heal these for you?_ Behind him, Trianna was insisting much the same.

"I shall have a healer stitch my wounds and make a poultice to reduce the swelling, and that is all."

"But why!" Trianna exclaimed.

"The Trial of the Long Knives requires participants to allow their wounds to heal at their natural pace. Otherwise, we won't have experienced the full measure of the pain the trial entails. If I violate the rule, Fadawar will be declared the victor. I had to win the trial without deceit so no one can question my leadership in the future." Nasuada glanced back down at Mark, still grasping her by the wrists, feeling some pain receding slowly from her wounds. The discretion with which he was performing the spell was acceptable to her, even if it was deceptive. She squeezed his hand lightly when she felt well enough again to think clearly. He rose then and stood at her side.

In a deadly soft tone, King Orrin said, "But what if you had lost?"

"I could not lose. Even if it meant my death, I never would have allowed Fadawar to gain control of the Varden."

Grave, Orrin studied her for a long while. "I believe you. Only, is the tribes' loyalty worth such a great sacrifice? You are not so common that we can easily replace you."

"The tribes' loyalty? No. But this will have an effect far beyond the tribes, as you must know. It should help unify our forces. And that is a prize valuable enough for me to willingly brave a host of unpleasant deaths."

"Pray tell, what would have Varden have gained if you _had_ died today? No benefit would exist then. Your legacy would be discouragement, chaos, and likely ruin."

Whenever Nasuada drank wine, mead, and especially strong spirits, she became most cautious with her speech and motions, for even if she did not notice it at once, she knew the alcohol degraded her judgment and coordination, and she had no desire to behave inappropriately or to give others an advantage in their dealings with her. Mark set a hand on her shoulder before she spoke, forcing her to tense.

"Nasuada would not have died today, King Orrin, I assure you I was staying vigilant in avoiding such an incident."

"She said herself she would have accepted death."

Mark shook his head, "If Lady Nasuada fell unconscious then I would have felt obligated to heal her wounds to revive her. She would have fulfilled her promise to participate in the trial without assistance or interference. Though it likely would have ended with me on her bad side." His tone was good-humored, though the grip on Nasuada's shoulder was tense.

King Orrin looked between them and shook his head. "I still believe it was foolish to participate at all. Risking the Varden is not something that should be done."

"Then I ask you one question, your highness: Do you believe that the soldiers, the men and women who fight for the resistance, would so quickly bend their will to new leadership? If Nasuada _were_ to have suffered defeat at the hands of the trial, do you believe that the Varden would follow Fadawar as dauntlessly as they follow her? A rhetorical question, of course, loyalties, and faith are earned, not bartered away. Yes, Fadawar would have gained the Varden by the rules of the trial, but winning over the hearts of men is not so simple a task."

"You are saying the trial was of no consequence then?"

"There was only to gain," Mark nodded. "The Varden would have disbanded itself under Fadawar's mantle and awaited a new leader – perhaps Eragon when he returns, or yourself. I do not believe they would trust the leadership of a man who arrived only to put out their light. Nasuada is irreplaceable, and I trust that you understand as such."

The young king looked from Mark's face to Nasuada, leaning back in her chair, bloodied bandages running up and down her dark arms. She was pensive as Mark spoke, and met King Orrin's gaze as he finished speaking. Seemingly satisfied, King Orrin finally nodded, turning and departing from the pavilion.

 _Thank you Marcus, I would not have been so kind to him today._

He squeezed her shoulder, "I shall take my leave now, for it seems I will be of no assistance to your wounds. I'll send for Angela, she will be able to devise a concoction to heal you better than I." Mark walked from the tent, past the others, closing his eyes. _You did well today Nasuada, rest and I will seek you out this evening to discuss what we should do next._

* * *

"It's been days, and they still haven't returned," Murtagh said. Across the room, leaning against the table stood Kieran, watching him pace back and forth, as he did whenever he was unnerved about something. "I'm scrying her." He said yet again.

"You know it won't work," she repeated, folding her arms. After bloodying her dress, she had changed into a pair of breeches and tunic, plain and cotton of brown and tan. Leaning nearby was Eirian, still untouched since the battle of the Burning Plains. "She doesn't let anyone scry her. Enchantments and protective spells are her specialties."

"No, destructive ones are; lightning is her particular favorite." Murtagh groaned and looked over at the bed where the black dragon hatchling had twisted itself up into a ball and fallen asleep. The past few days he had enlisted Thorn, Nasreen, and Andrar to help watch the hatchling. No one else needed to know that it existed, not yet. And the entire Varden was more than excited about the new rumor that Arya had not only found a dragon egg, but that it had hatched for her as well. She had seldom been seen the past few days, and mutterings were that she had holed up in her tent.

Murtagh and Kieran alike had spent more time in the healer's tent than anywhere else, expending as much of their energy as possible into healing troops. Their deeds had not gone unnoticed, and no longer were they privy to furious glares and caustic words as they proceeded around the Varden's encampment.

"I'm scrying her." Murtagh said finitely, walking over to Kieran's washbasin and starting to mutter.

Behind him, Kieran sang out, "It won't work." He growled a bit, glaring back at her. "But I know what will..."

"What?"

She smirked and pushed him aside, repeating the spell aloud with slightly different phrasing. In an instant Trevin appeared on the glossy surface of the water.

"The archer?"

Kieran shrugged a bit, "I thought he was sort of sweet." She turned back to the scrying spell, listening to hushed voices. Trevin was dripping with water – it was raining. He had his bow strung and an arrow knocked against his cheek, peering around a tree.

"How many?" Kendra's voice asked quietly.

"Six I can see... but that girl with the red hair seems to be in charge. Is she one of the Riders?"

Murtagh tensed and immediately took over Kieran's spell, scrying Odette – or what used to be Odette. The girl's visage appeared in the pool of water instantly. Sigrúne was dripping with rain inside the ruins of an abandoned fort, speaking with a group of five soldiers.

"She's going to kill them," he gritted his teeth. "Kendra has no idea she's a Shade. And if Sigrúne's there, she either rode a horse all the way from the capital, or one of the others flew her there. I'm willing to bet anything Pearce is with her. They aren't prepared to take them both on, and the dragon. There's only a handful of them..."

Kieran turned her gaze up at him, eyes wide. "No, they're not."

Looking over at the dragon hatchling, Murtagh sighed as she woke, blinking at him. He waited for her to make her way to him and perch on his shoulder before walking out of Kieran's tent. "Nasuada won't let us leave willingly-"

Kieran lengthened her stride, hurrying towards the dragon clearing highlighted by starlight. "Then we go anyway, without her permission-"

"We'll be deemed traitors again-" He mentioned, looking up as Thorn rushed overhead.

"So be it, I'm not letting my sister get killed by that thing-" Pursing her lips, Kieran huffed.

Mark's cloak dropped over his shoulder as he crossed his arms in front of himself, tipping his chin up slightly. "What's going on?"

"Kendra has no idea what she's hunting," said Murtagh, roughly. He went to step around Mark, and growled when he shifted to stay in front of him.

"What do you mean?" He asked quietly, expertly ignoring glances from soldiers as they walked past after their evening meal, trying to avoid causing a commotion.

"The Shade and one of Galbatorix's Riders," Murtagh replied. "They're formidable against a Rider by now, but your friends are going to be murdered in an instant against them, especially in the state they're in."

"Let's go," Kieran said as Nasreen fell to the ground behind her, growling at the men. "Murtagh."

With a sigh, Mark shook his head at them. "You realize no one can stop you, right? Your will is your own, if you deem it necessary, then you may go. No one can hold a Rider against their will. I shall tell Nasuada what you're planning, and let anyone who asks know that she let you leave camp. She is in no condition to make any decisions at the moment, so I'll make it for her: find Kendra and bring her back safely."

Murtagh closed his eyes against the wind as Nasreen pushed off the ground, sending a furious gale about them, circling above camp with Kieran on her back. Thorn soon landed nearby, dropping Zar'roc from his claws. _We should go._

"Thanks Mark," he said stiffly, rushing over and picking up his sword, climbing atop the ruby dragon in a few smooth bounds, strapping in for the ride. "Which way should we go?"

"East and then north, toward Furnost. There should be an abandoned fort the Empire was using to regroup some of their troops."

Murtagh nodded at Mark, holding tight as Thorn launched off the ground. Tucking herself against his arm, the dragon hatchling hummed with excitement. The Thorn and Nasreen circled over the encampment before heading east, planning to loop up from the south and avoid detection as long as possible. It wasn't but a few minutes before the campfires of the Varden's camp twinkled like fireflies in the distance. There was a steady thrum of wing beats, just out of time with one another. The dull gusts of wind beneath the membrane helped block out his thoughts. He tightened the straps around his legs before Thorn tipped, dropping his left wing toward the ground, banking a series of treetops along the border between Surda and the Empire. In the distance, gleaming in moonlight, he could see the faint ripple of Tüdosten lake.

* * *

With Love, As Always,

Mariah Dawnsinger


	8. Ch 88: Diversion

**Chapter Eighty-Eight: Diversion**

"We should stop," Mariah said, looking at him. He was wincing now with every step. They had been running for nearly two days now. "I know we're both strong, but even we have limits."

He sighed, able to feel the pain in his heels, hips, spine, and skull. The headache was worsening with every passing mile. Her speech had interrupted the steady beat of their footsteps against the ground, which had allowed him to stop thinking, and recede into his own mind while his body moved. "I think it's worse now that you've said something."

"My apologies," she said, noting that their pace was now off and their footsteps quickly became uneven. Mariah quickly scanned for imperial troops, spotting Galbatorix's flags waving in the distance near the entrance of a village and pulled him into the tree line. "But you are exhausted."

"You don't look so great yourself," he snapped, panting.

She sneered, putting her hands on her hips. "Aye, but you're the one who got us into this mess."

They had been making much slower time than anticipated, due to the troops swarming the landscape. And in order to try and make up the time, and not exhaust themselves further, they had been sticking to established roads and trails wherever possible. However, with the amount of villages and homesteads throughout the area, they dared not run at their full capability. Even at an easy running pace, they appeared as though sprinting. Their speed would be enough to rouse suspicion of their location. Mariah had seen at least two of the other members of Galbatorix's forsworn flying about on their dragons northward during the dusky hours the prior day.

He had been enjoying the silence. Without Saphira constantly buzzing in his head, he felt alone, despite the extra pair of feet keeping pace with him. It allowed him to reflect on everything that had happened over the past week, month, and even as far back as Carvahall. There was time now. Time for worry and fear and contemplation. The absence of training and battle and people demanding to speak with him was welcome. Though he wasn't alone, Mariah had seldom spoken since Sloan's departure from their party. Even in the presence of enemy troops, she had remained silent, using hand motions and eye movement to express her words; as if fearful they would hear her.

At that moment she silenced and crouched, pulling him with her behind a clutch of bushes. There was the sound of jingling harnesses, clomping hooves, and men's voices. Six soldiers emerged from the ravine nearby and rode cantering out onto the thin dirt road not ten feet away. Mariah clenched her fist, angry that she hadn't noticed their approach. After spotting one of the Forsworn's dragons on the horizon she decided it best to keep her mental guard up and as close to herself as possible. Eragon had made himself a pack –using dead branches and a square of canvas he had bartered for – and placed his armor within it. She was glad she had left her own at camp, it would have been difficult to hide it considering it's gleaming gold shine.

The soldiers reined in their horses and milled around in the middle of the road, arguing among themselves. "I'm telling you, I saw something!" one of them shouted. He was of medium height, with ruddy cheeks and a yellow beard.

Mariah could hear Eragon's rapid heartbeat, he was so close. The soldier with the yellow beard climbed down from his bay charger and walked along the edge of the road, studying the ground and the juniper trees beyond. Like every member of Galbatorix's army, the soldier wore a red tunic embroidered with gold thread in the outline of a jagged tongue of fire. The thread sparkled as he moved. His armor was simple – a helmet, a tapered shield, and a leather brigandine – indicating he was little more than a mounted footman. As for arms, he bore a spear in his right hand and a longsword on his left hip.

As the soldier approached them, Eragon started muttering under his breath. Mariah whispered the same spell, using different words, forcing him to mispronounce a particularly difficult cluster of vowels, making him restart the incantation.

The soldier took another step. Then another.

Mariah vanished from beside him, and he with her. The soldier grumbled, "I swear I saw something." He poked his spear into the bushes, pushing the leaves aside. The tip grazed just past Eragon's head and then pulled back out again. "Ah, blast it," he said, releasing the branches.

"What was it?" called another of the men.

"Nothing," said the soldier, returning to his companions. He removed his helmet and wiped his brow. "My eyes are paying tricks on me."

"What does that bastard Braethan expect of us? We've hardly gotten a wink of sleep these past two days."

"Aye. The king must be desperate to drive us so hard… To be honest, I'd rather not find whoever it is we're searching for. It's not that I'm fainthearted, but anyone who gives Galbatorix pause is best avoided by the likes of us. Let the Riders catch our mysterious fugitive, eh?"

"What with the princess, Murtagh, and Dawnsinger all having been captured, what chance have we anyway?" With that, the group of six spurred their steeds forward and continued north on the road.

"Captured, of course," she muttered. Mariah broke the enchantment around them, glancing at Eragon, "Sorry. I didn't realize you'd get so caught up in what I was saying that it would force you to stumble."

He brushed his hands off, "No, it's fine. Thank you."

She nodded and reached up, pulling at the bands holding her hair in a braid. Undoing the whole configuration, she brushed it out with her fingers and began to re-tie it.

"We need to keep moving," he insisted, watching her.

Mariah finished re-braiding her hair in silence. When the last strand had been weaved into the band, she licked her lips. "Of course. Before dusk, a few more hours at least."

* * *

It was long past nightfall when Mark re-entered Nasuada's tent, slipping past her guards with magic, not expecting to find her alone. Farica was usually never out of sight, even if she was quiet enough to remain out of everyone's thoughts. He hesitated when she made no move to look upon him. Then her eyes flashed toward him, studying his figure. Silence reigned for a solid minute, perhaps two before she hummed quietly in approval. A few moments later there was a slight rustling, like that of a mouse nosing about for food.

Elva slipped from her hiding place, emerging between two panels of fabric into the main chamber of the pavilion. The girl's unnatural growth had continued. When Nasuada first met her but a short while ago, Elva had appeared between three and four years old. Now she looked closer to nine. Her plain dress was black, with a few folds of purple around the neck and shoulders. Her long, straight hair was even darker: a liquid void that flowed down to the small of her back. Her sharp-angled face was bone white, for she rarely ventured outside. The dragon mark on her brow was silver. And her eyes, her violet eyes, contained a jaded, cynical air - the result of Eragon's blessing that was a curse, for it forced her to both endure other people's pain and also try to prevent it. The recent battle had almost killed her, what with the combined agony of thousands beating upon her mind, even though one of Du Vrangr Gata had placed her in an artificial slumber for the duration of the fighting, in an attempt to protect her. Only recently had the girl begun to speak and take interest in her surroundings again.

"I am hard to impress, Nasuada, but you are a strong woman to withstand so many cuts."

Even though Nasuada had heard it many times, Elva's voice still inspired a thrill of alarm in her, for it was the bitter, mocking voice of a world-weary adult, not that of a child. She struggled to ignore it, as she responded: "You are stronger. I did not have to suffer through Fadawar's pain as well. Thank you for staying with me. I know what it must have cost you, and I'm grateful."

"Grateful? Ha! There's an empty word for me, _Lady Nightstalker._ " Elva's small lips twisted in a misshapen smile. "Have you anything to eat? I'm famished." Her eyes darted toward Mark after she said this, taking him in for the first time as Nasuada pointed across the pavilion. She made her way to the food and began wolfing down the bread, cramming large chunks into her mouth.

"At least you won't have to live like this for much longer. As soon as Eragon returns, he'll remove the spell," she commented.

"Perhaps." After she had devoured half a loaf, Elva paused. "I lied about the Trial of the Long Knives."

"What do you mean?" Nasuada asked. Moving to stand beside Nasuada, checking on her condition, Mark listened in silence.

"I foresaw that you would lose, not win."

"What!" Nasuada's outburst startled Mark, he had not seen her mood shift so suddenly before. He blinked once in surprise.

"If I had allowed events to take their course, your nerve would have broken on the seventh cut and Fadawar would be sitting where you are now. So I told you what you needed to hear in order to prevail."

A chill crept over Nasuada. If what Elva said was true, then she was in the witch-child's debt more than ever. Still, she disliked being manipulated, even if it was for her own benefit. "I see. It seems I must thank you once again."

Elva laughed then, a brittle sound. "And you hate every moment of it, don't you? No matter. You need not worry about offending me, Nasuada. We are useful to each other, no more."

Nasuada was relieved when one of the dwarves guarding the pavilion, the captain of that particular watch, banged his hammer against his shield and proclaimed, "The herbalist Angela requests an audience with you, Lady Nightstalker."

"Granted," said Nasuada, raising her voice.

Angela bustled into the pavilion, carrying several bags and baskets looped over her arms. As always, her curly hair formed a stormy cloud around her face, which was pinched with concern. At her heels padded the werecat Solembum, in his animal form. He immediately angled toward Elva and began to rub against her legs, arching his back as he did.

A quick glance at Mark was all the attention she paid him at the moment, depositing her luggage on the ground. "Really! Between you and Eragon, I seem to spend most of my time among the Varden healing people too silly to realize they need to _avoid_ getting chopped into tiny little pieces."

"Let's just hope that he returns in one piece this time, I think you'll have your hands full with this one for a while," Mark said, nodding toward Nasuada.

Angela clucked with disapproval, unwinding the bandages around her right forearm. "Normally, this is when the healer asks her patient how she is, and the patient lies through her teeth and says, 'Oh, not too bad,' and the healer says, 'Good, good. Be cheery and you'll make a fine recovery.' I think it's obvious, however, you're _not_ about to start running around leading charges against the Empire. Far from it."

"I will recover, won't I?" asked Nasuada.

"You would if you'd let someone use magic to seal up these wounds. Since I can't, it's a bit harder to tell. You'll have to muddle along like most people do and hope none of these cuts get infected." She paused in her work and gazed directly at Nasuada. "You do realize these will scar?"

"It will be what it will be."

"True enough."

Nasuada stifled a groan and gaze upward as Angela proceeded to stitched each of her wounds and then covered them with a thick, wet mat of pulped plants.

"If I may try to draw your attention elsewhere..."

"Yes Mark?" She asked, lolling her head to her shoulder, looking up at him and trying to avoid thinking about the pain emanating from her arms.

"It seems Kieran and Murtagh were worried about Kendra and decided to try and locate her with a scrying spell. They believe as though she is in trouble and took it upon themselves to send out a rescue party."

"Which included themselves, no doubt?"

"Aye."

"And you decided to let them go?"

He smiled slightly at her, "There is no stopping a Dragon Rider when a loved one is in harm's way, you should know that by now." Mark watched Angela's swift handiwork as she stitched up the wounds from Nasuada's trial and kept speaking. "They took their swords and their dragons, and headed east. I let them know which direction to head toward, they should be gone no more than a few days. I have little doubt in their ability to bring Kendra and her companions back safely."

"As much as I wanted them to stay, without forcing them to pledge their loyalty to me I can do nothing. They are free to do as they wish, and have proven themselves to the Varden these days post-battle. I do wish there was at least one Rider here to guard me, with Eragon gone."

"You forget Arya, m'lady. She would gladly assist in the Varden's efforts, and has long before now."

Nasuada sighed, "I have had no contact with her these past few days. I fear she's fallen ill."

"No," Mark shook his head, his lips pulling into a thin smile. "Nothing like that. Her surprise at the dragon choosing her overwhelmed her momentarily, after which she decided to expend as much time she felt necessary to solidify the bond between herself and the dragon."

Just as Angela finished retying the last strip of cloth around Nasuada's arms, the dwarf captain shouted, "Halt!" And there came a chorus of shimmering, bell-like notes as the human guards crossed their swords, barring the way to whoever sought entrance.

Stepping in front of Nasuada, Mark drew the blade at his side. Behind him, Nasuada drew the four-inch knife from the sheath sewn within the bodice of her chemise. It was difficult for her to grasp the hilt, as her fingers felt thick and clumsy and the muscles in her arm were slow to respond. It was as if the limb had fallen asleep, save for the sharp, burning lines scribed into her flesh.

Angela also pulled a dagger from somewhere in her clothes, and she placed herself beside Mark and muttered a line of the ancient language. Leaping to the ground, Solembum crouched next to Angela. His fur stood on end, making him appear larger than most dogs. He growled low in his throat.

Elva continued eating, seemingly unperturbed by the commotion. She examined the morsel of bread she was holding between her thumb and index finger, as one might inspect a strange species of insect, and then dipped it into a goblet of wine and popped the bread into her mouth. Mark caught her lack of motion out of the corner of his eye and immediately relaxed, sheathing his sword.

"My Lady!" Shouted a man. "Eragon and Saphira fast approach from the northeast!"

There was a furious roar that echoed around camp from Andrar. Mark stepped from the pavilion, glancing at the messenger, then looking skyward at the fiery dragon rushing overhead. He whistled sharply and Aluora came trotting to him. Pulling himself up into her saddle, he rushed after the dragon. Behind, Nasuada finally exited the tent, fully dressed with her arms exposed, the sleeves having been cut from the bodice.

"Stations!" The dwarf captain barked, and the six present members of the Nighthawks ranged themselves around Nasuada's group: the humans and dwarves fore and aft, and the hulking Kull – Urgals who stood eight feet and taller – on either side.

Dusk spread its gold and purple wings over the Varden's encampment, lending a sense of mystery to the rows of canvas tents that extended beyond the limits of Nasuada's sight. Deepening shadows presaged the advent of night, and countless torches and watch fires already glowed pure and bright in the warm twilight. The sky was clear to the east. South, a long, low cloud of black smoke hid the horizon and the Burning Plains, which were a league and a half away. West, a line of beeches and aspens marked the path of the Jiet River, upon which floated the _Dragon Wing_ , the ship Jeod and Roran and the other villagers from Carvahall had pirated. But Nasuada had eyes only for the north, and the glittering shape of Saphira descending thence. Light from the fading sun still illuminated her, cloaking her in a blue halo. She appeared like a cluster of stars falling from the heavens.

The sight was so majestic, Nasuada stood transfixed for a moment, thankful she was fortunate enough to witness it. _They're safe!_ She thought, and breathed a sigh of relief.

Andrar hovered in the air just above the clearing set aside for the dragons to land and take off, huffing smoke and embers, a low groan emanating from his chest. Ahead of Nasuada and her party, Mark was hurrying toward the clearing, anxious. Nasuada picked her way between the rows of tents. Her guards and companions accompanied her, but she paid them little heed, eager as she was to rendezvous with Eragon, Saphira, and Mariah. She had spent much of the previous days worrying about them, both as the leader of the Varden and, somewhat to her surprise, as a friend.

Saphira flew as fast as any hawk or falcon Nasuada had seen, but she was still a number of miles away from the camp, and it took her almost ten minutes to traverse the remaining distance. In that time, a massive crowd of warriors gathered around the clearing: humans, dwarves, and even a contingent of gray-skinned Urgals, led by Nar Garzhvog, who spit at the men closest to them. Also in the congregation were King Orrin and his courtiers, who positioned themselves opposite Nasuada; Narheim, the dwarf ambassador who had assumed Orik's duties since Orik left for Farthen Dûr; Jörmundur; the other members of the Council of Elders; and Arya.

The tall elf woman wove her way through the crowd toward Nasuada. Even with Saphira nigh upon them, men and woman alike tore their gaze from the sky to watch Arya's progress, she presented such a striking image. Upon her shoulder and draped around her neck was the green dragon hatchling. She herself was dressed all in black, she wore leggings like a man, and a sword on her hip, and a bow and quiver upon her back. Her skin was the color of light honey. Her face was angular as a cat's. And she moved with a slinking, muscular grace that bespoke her skill with a blade, and also her supernatural strength.

Her eccentric ensemble had always struck Nasuada as slightly indecent; it revealed much of her form. But Nasuada had to admit that even if Arya donned a gown of rags, she would still appear more regal and dignified than any mortal-born noble.

Halting before Nasuada, Arya gestured with one elegant finger at Nasuada's wounds. "As the poet Earnë said, to place yourself in harm's way for the sake of the people and the country you love is the finest thing one can do. I have known every leader of the Varden, and they were all mighty men and women, and none so much as Ajihad. In this, though, I believe you have surpassed even him." Firnen chirped from her shoulder.

"You honor me, Arya Argetlam, but I fear that if I burn so brightly, too few shall remember my father as he deserves." Her eyes darted for half a moment toward the golden orbs of the dragon on the she-elf's shoulder.

"The deeds of the children are a testament to the upbringing they received from their parents. Burn like the sun, Nasuada, for the brighter you burn, the more people there shall be who will respect Ajihad for teaching you how to bear the responsibilities of command at such a tender age."

Nasuada dipped her head, taking to hear Arya's advice. Then she smiled and said, "A tender age? I'm a grown woman, by our reckoning."

Amusement gleamed in Arya's green eyes. "True. But if we judge by years, and not wisdom, no human would be considered an adult among my kind. Except for Galbatorix, that is."

"And me," Angela chimed in.

"Come now," said Nasuada, "you can't be much older than I am."

"Ha! You're confusing appearances with age. You ought to have more sense than that after being around Arya so long."

Before Nasuada could ask just how old Angela really was, she felt a hard tug on the back of her dress. Looking around, she saw that it was Elva who had taken such a liberty and that the girl was beckoning. Bending, Nasuada placed an ear close to Elva, who muttered, "Eragon and Mariah aren't with Saphira."

Nasuada's chest tightened, restricting her breathing. She peered upward: Saphira circled directly over the camp, some thousands of feet high. Her huge, batlike wings were black against the sky. Nasuada could see Saphira's underside, and her talons white against the lapped scales of her belly, but nothing of whoever might be riding her.

"How do you know? She asked, keeping her voice low.

"I cannot feel their discomfort, nor fears. Roran is there, and a woman I guess is Katrina. No one else."

Straightening, Nasuada clapped her hands and said, "Jörmundur!" allowing her voice to ring forth.

Almost a dozen yards away, Jörmundur came running, shoving aside those who got in the way he was experienced enough to know when an emergency was at hand. "My Lady."

"Clear the field! Get everyone away from here before Saphira lands." She caught Mark's glance back toward her, reigning in Aluora, knowing he would understand and nodded.

"Including Orrin and Nraheim and Garzhvog?"

She grimaced. "No, but allow no one else to remain." Nasuada watched as Mark began to assist in Jörmundur's efforts, clearing out the onlookers. Arya and Angela converged upon Nasuada. They appeared as alarmed as she felt.

Arya said, "Saphira would not be so calm if Eragon was hurt or dead."

"Where is he, then?" demanded Nasuada. "What trouble has he gotten himself into now? And Mariah. I fear they have been caught by the Empire."

A raucous commotion filled the clearing as Jörmundur and his men directed everyone back to their tents, laying about them with swagger stick whenever the reluctant warriors lingered or protested. Andrar swept downward, releasing a fierce bellow, shaking the ground as he landed amongst the crowd, scattering the group in an instant. Several scuffles broke out, but the captains under Jörmundur quickly overwhelmed the culprits, so as to prevent the violence from taking root and spreading. Fortunately, the Urgals, as the word of their war chief, Garzhvog, left without incident, although Garzhvog himself advanced toward Nasuada, as did King Orrin ad the dwarf Narheim.

Nasuada felt the ground tremble under her feet as the eight-and-a-half-foot-tall Urgal approached her. He lifted his bony chin, barring his throat as was the custom of his race, and said, "What means this, Lady Nightstalker?" The shape of his jaws and teeth, coupled with his accent, made it difficult for Nasuada to understand him.

"Yes, I'd bloody well like an explanation myself," said Orrin. His face was red.

"And I," said Narheim.

It occurred to Nasuada, as she regarded them, that this was probably the first time in thousands of years that members of so many of the races of Alagaësia had gathered together in peace. The only ones missing were the Ra'zac and their mounts, and Nasuada knew no sane being would ever invite those foul creatures into their secret councils. She pointed at Saphira and said, "She shall provide the answers you desire."

* * *

"Ahhh!"

The shriek startled her awake and she rolled up onto her feet, fingers wrapping around Ancalë as her eyes darted around the small clearing. She watched Eragon nearly twist in half from where he had been lying. Watching him scrabbling backward, he pushed himself to his feet and raised his arms in front of him as if to deflect oncoming blows.

His eyes were wide as he looked around quickly. Mariah felt his consciousness lashing outward, searching. At last he lowered his hands. His chest heaved and his skin burned, and he stank of sweat. She moved toward him, watching his body tense and move for his blade. She stopped and unbuckled Ancalë from her waist, dropping the sword to the ground with a dull clang.

Eragon fell to his knees, wrapping his arms around his stomach, hugging himself as he rocked back and forth. He pressed his forehead against the ground, curling into a hard, tight ball. His breath was hot against his belly. "What's wrong with me?"

Smiling slightly, she quietly moved to sit beside him, gently placing a hand on his back. "There is nothing wrong with you…"

She saw him shake his head, then heard his shaking voice. "I'm… A man should not feel like this. A _Rider_ should not feel like this. Garrow… Brom… they would have been fine, I know. They did what needed to be done, and that was that. No crying about it, no endless worry… I'm weak."

"You are not weak," she assured him softly. "Crying does not make you weak. And men who feel nothing aren't men."

"My mind has turned against me."

Mariah shook her head, "Your mind is haunted by the memories you've so recently experienced." She started as he sprang to his feet, pulling away from her and pacing rapidly around the clearing.

"I can't stay still…"

"Then we'll go now." She nodded, picking up her blade and rushing after him, listening to his racing pulse as their feet once again thudded against the dirt.

* * *

Andrar tucked in his wings and watched as Saphira dropped. Just as the last stragglers quit the clearing, a torrent of air rushed across Nasuada as Saphira swooped to the ground, raking her wings to slow herself before alighting upon her rear legs. She dropped to all fours, and a dull boom resounded across the camp. Unbuckling themselves from her saddle, Roran and Katrina moved to dismount. Mark leaped from his saddle and rushed forward, lifting his arms to assist Katrina from the saddle, speaking to the two of them. Together, he and Roran helped Katrina down from Saphira's back. One she had her footing, Mark released the thin woman, greeting Roran warmly as he dropped down beside her. As soon as the humans were gone from her saddle, Andrar pushed forward, nuzzling his snout against Saphira's blue scales. He bashed his tail in a swift downward motion, causing a loud thump. Humming with conflicting emotions as he looked over her wounds she had received from the Lethrblaka. Wincing, Mark started on an incantation that would heal the punctures that she still bore from her battle.

Striding forward, Nasuada examined Katrina. She was curious to see what kind of woman could inspire a man to undertake such extraordinary feats in order to rescue her. The young woman before her was strong-boned, with the pallid complexion of an invalid, a mane of copper hair, and a dress so torn and filthy, it was impossible to determined what it might have looked like originally. Clasped around her neck was Mariah's black fox-fur collared cloak. In spite of the toll her captivity had taken, it was apparent to Nasuada that Katrina was attractive enough, but not what the bards would call a great beauty. However, she possessed a certain force of gaze and bearing that made Nasuada think that if Roran had been the one captured, Katrina would have been just as capable of rousing the villagers of Carvahall, getting them south to Surda, fighting in the Battle of the Burning Plains, and then continuing on to Helgrind, all for the sake of her beloved. Even when she noticed Garzhvog, Katrina did not flinch or quail but remained standing where she was, next to Roran.

Roran bowed to Nasuada, swiveling, also to King Orrin. "My Lady," he said, his face grave. "Your Majesty. If I may, this is my betrothed, Katrina." She curtsied to them both.

"Welcome to the Varden, Katrina," said Nasuada. We have all heard your name here, on account of Roran's uncommon devotion. Songs of his love for you already spread across the land."

"You are most welcome," added Orrin. "Most welcome indeed."

Nasuada noticed that the king had eyes only for Katrina, as did every man present, including the dwarves, and Nasuada was certain they would be recounting tales of Katrina's charms to their comrades-in-arms before he night was out. What Roran had done on her behalf elevated her far above ordinary women; it made her an object of mystery, fascination, and allure to the warriors. That anyone should sacrifice so much for another person meant, but the reason of the price paid, that person must be unusually precious.

Katrina blushed and smiled. "Thank you," she said. Along with her embarrassment of such attentions, a hint of pride colored her expression, as if she knew how remarkable Roran was and delighted in having captured his heart, of all the women in Alagaësia. He was hers, and that was all the status or treasure she desired.

A pang of loneliness shot through Nasuada. _I wish I had what they have_ , she thought. Her responsibilities prevented her from entertaining girlish dreams of romance and marriage – and certainly children - unless she were to arrange a marriage of convenience for the good of the Varden. She had often considered doing that with Orrin, but her nerve always failed her. Still, she was content with her lot and did not begrudge Katrina and Roran their happiness. Her cause was what she cared about; defeating Galbatorix was far more important than something as trifling as marriage. Most everyone got married, but how many had the opportunity to oversee the birth of a new age? Her gaze flickered to Mark, still with his back turned and assisting Saphira, and she bit the inside of her lip.

 _I'm not myself this evening,_ realized Nasuada. _My wounds have set my thoughts ahumming like a nest of bees._ Shaking herself, she looked past Roran and Katrina to Saphira. Nasuada opened up the barriers she usually maintained around her mind so she might hear what Saphira had to say and then asked: "Where are they?"

With the dry rustle of scales sliding over scales, Saphira crept forward reluctantly from Andrar and lowered her neck so her head was directly in front of Nasuada, Arya, and Angela. The dragon's left eye sparkled with blue fire. She sniffed twice, and her crimson tongue darted out of her mouth. Hot, moist breath ruffled the lace collar on Nasuada's dress.

Nasuada swallowed as Saphira's consciousness brushed against her own. Saphira felt unlike any other being Nasuada had encountered: ancient, alien, and both ferocious and gentle. That, along with Saphira's imposing physical presence, always reminded Nasuada that if Saphira wanted to eat them, she could. It was impossible, Nasuada believed, to be complacent around a dragon. She had no idea what she would have done had one of the hatchlings chosen her.

 _I smell blood,_ said Saphira. _Who has hurt you, Nasuada? Name them, and I shall tear them from neck to groin and bring you their heads for trophies._

"There's no need for you to tear anyone apart. Not yet, at least. I wielded the knife myself. However, this is the wrong time to delve into the matter. Right now, all I care about is Eragon's whereabouts."

 _Eragon_ , said Saphira, _and Mariah decided to remain in the Empire._

For a few seconds, Nasuada was unable to move or think. Then a mounting sense of doom replaced her stunned denial of Saphira's revelation. Theo the others reacted in various ways as well, from which Nasuada deduced Saphira had spoken to them all at once.

"How... how could you allow them to stay?" she asked.

Small tongues of fire rippled in Saphira's nostrils as she snorted. _Eragon made his own choice. I could not stop him. He insists upon doing what he thinks is right, no matter the consequences for him or the rest of Alagaësia... I could shake him like a hatchling, but I'm proud of him. Fear not; he can take care of himself. He told Mariah to return with us, however she outwitted him and remained at his side. So far, no misfortune has befallen them. I would know if he was hurt._

Arya spoke: "And why did he make this choice, Saphira?"

 _It would be faster for me to show you rather than explain with words. May I?_

They all indicated their consent.

A river of Saphira's memories poured into Nasuada. She saw black Helgrind from above a layer of clouds heard Eragon, Roran, Mariah and Saphira discussing how best to attack; watched them discover the Ra'zac's lair; and experienced Saphira's epic battle with the Lethrblaka. The procession of images fascinated Nasuada. She had been born in the Empire but could remember nothing of it; this was the first time as an adult that she had looked upon anything besides the wild fringes of Galbatorix's holdings.

Lastly came Eragon and his confrontation with Saphira. Saphira attempted to hide it, but the anguish she felt over leaving Eragon was still so raw and piercing, Nasuada had to dry her cheeks with the bandages on her forearms. However, the reason Eragon gave for staying – killing the last of Ra'zac and exploring the remainder of Helgrind - were reasons Nasuada deemed inadequate.

She frowned. _Eragon may be rash, but he's certainly not foolish enough to endanger everything we seek to accomplish merely so he could visit a few caves and drain the last bitter dregs of his revenge. There must be another explanation._ She wondered whether she should press Saphira for the truth, but she knew Saphira would not withhold such information on a whim. _Perhaps she wants to discuss it in private_ , she thought.

"Blast it!" exclaimed King Orrin. "Eragon could not have picked a worse time to set off on his own. What matters a single Ra'zac when Galabtorix's entire army resides but a few miles from us?...We have to get him back."

Angela laughed. She was knitting a sock using five bone needles, which clicked and clacked and scraped against each other with a steady, if peculiar, rhythm. "How? He'll be traveling during the day and Saphira daren't fly around searching for them when the sun's up and anyone might spot her and alert Galbatorix."

"Yes, but he's our Rider! We cannot sit by idly while he remains in the midst of our enemies. Especially not with Dawnsinger with him. For all we know she could be leading him into a trap."

"I agree," said Narheim. "However it is done, we must ensure his safe return. Grimstnzborith Hrothgard adopted Eragon into his family and clan – that is mine own clan, as you know – and we owe him the loyalty of our law and our blood."

Nasuada saw Arya exchange a glance with Mark, then him shaking his head. "No," he said aloud, looking off into the distance. "Mariah Dawnsinger will return Eragon Shadeslayer to you - unharmed. She would not allow the Empire to capture him. Sending someone to go looking for them would only elicit more attention. Galbatorix has several Dragon Riders as it is. If they are being hunted, then they have a better chance of evading them on their own. They are both well trained, and one has extensive knowledge of the landscape and the Empire's plans. It will be trying, but we must remain patient and await their return."

* * *

A flock of starlings darted across the afternoon sky, like fish through the ocean. Eragon squinted at them. In Palancar Valley, when the starlings returned after winter, they often formed groups so large, they transformed day into night. This flock was not that large, yet it minded him of evenings spent drinking mint tea with Garrow and Roran on the porch of their house, watching a rustling black cloud turn and twist overhead.

Mariah halted beside him as he stopped and sat on a rock so he could retie the laces on his boots. The weather had changed; it was cool now, and a gray smudge to the west hinted at the possibility of a storm. The vegetation was lusher, with moss and reeds and thick clumps of green grass. Several miles away, five hills dotted the otherwise smooth land. A stand of thick oak trees adorned the central hill. Above the hazy mounds of foliage they could glimpse the crumbling walls of a long-abandoned building, constructed by some race in ages past.

"I think we're due for a diversion," Eragon said vaguely, glancing up at the other Rider. She pursed her lips for a moment, recognizing the note of curiosity in his voice and nodded.

They arrived at the base of the first hill an hour later, where they found the remnants of an ancient road paved with squares of stone. He followed it toward the ruins, wondering at its strange construction, for it was unlike any human, elf, or dwarf work he was familiar with.

The shadows under the oak trees chilled Eragon as he climbed the central hill. Near the summit, the ground leveled off underneath their feet and the thicket opened up, allowing entrance into a large glade. A broken tower stood there. The lower part of the tower was wide and ribbed, like the trunk of a tree. Then the structure narrowed and rose toward the sky for over thirty feet, ending in a sharp, jagged line. The upper half of the tower lay on the ground, shattered into innumerable fragments.

On the opposite side of the glade, there was a vegetable garden. Mariah blinked, her eyes focusing upon a single man hunched among the rows of plants, weeding a patch of snap peas. Shadows covered his downturned face. His gray beard was so long, it lay piled in his lap like a mound of uncombed wool.

Without looking up, the man said, "Well, are you going to help me finish these peas or not? There's a meal in it for you if you do."

"I'm Bergan… Bergan, son of Garrow."

The man grunted. "Tenga, son of Ingvar."

"And this is Astrid, daughter of Lira." The armor in Eragon's pack rattled as he dropped it to the ground.

Mariah blinked, hissing at him, _What are you doing?_

 _Gardening,_ he said, walking off toward the old man, shrugging slightly at her.

Her lips parted slightly as she watched him start weeding the garden. Instead of joining, she walked around the glade, inspecting and exploring. It was just over an hour Eragon stayed in the garden with Tenga, silence enveloping the two. Mariah settled her impatience with climbing into trees, allowing Eragon his diversion with reluctance. If one of the Forsworn caught their trail, they could be on them in the course of a few short hours, and if they remained in one place too long it would be all too easy to be detected.

Leaping down from her tree branch, she rejoined the two of them as they walked inside the tower, slipping through the narrow door, through which was a spacious kitchen and dining room. In the middle of the room, a circular staircase coiled up to the second story. Books, scrolls, and sheaves of loose-bond vellum covered every available surface, including a goodly portion of the floor.

Tenga pointed at the small pile of branches in the fireplace. With a pop and a crackle, the wood burst into flame. Eragon tensed, and Mariah raised an eyebrow, looking at the old man. Very few people knew how to cast spells without speaking. She watched Eragon sink onto the bare corner of a nearby chair.

Moving around, she spotted an open scroll and began reading it, finding a compendium of true names. Magicians coveted such scrolls and books and would sacrifice almost anything to obtain them, for with them one could learn new words for a spell and also record therein words one had discovered. Mark would have done anything to get his hands on this. She looked back at the old man, studying him and decided it best to leave the scroll be for the moment. Those who owned these scrolls were seldom parted from them. There were six others around the room, surprisingly enough, strewn about like children's storybooks.

A mug of ale and a plate with bread, cheese, and a slice of cold meat pie appeared in front of Eragon as Tenga shoved the dishes under his nose. Mariah watched cautiously, not quite sure if she trusted him yet.

"Thank you," said Eragon, accepting the dishes.

Tenga ignored him and sat cross-legged next to the fireplace. He continued to grumble and mutter into his beard as he devoured his lunch. He hadn't so much as bothered to motion for Mariah to get her own food, and she had a feeling he knew she was suspicious of him.

She exchanged glances with Eragon, but stood quietly in place while they ate their meal, ignoring her growling stomach. After Eragon had scraped his plate clean and drained the last of the fire harvest ale, and Tenga had also nearly completed his repast, Eragon could not help but ask, "Did the elves build this tower?"

Tenga fixed him with a pointed gaze, as if the question made him doubt Eragon's intelligence. "Aye. The tricky elves built Edur Ithindra."

"What is it you do here? Are you all alone, or-"

"I search for the answer!" exclaimed Tenga. "A key to an unopened door, the secret of the trees and the plants. Fire, heat, lightning, light… Most do not know the question and wander in ignorance. Others know the question but fear what the answer will mean. Bah! For thousands of years we have lived like savages. Savage! I shall end that. I shall usher in the age of light, and all shall praise my deed."

Mariah raised her eyebrows at his exclamations, glancing at Eragon, trying to get his attention to motion they should leave. He was, however, much too intrigued to notice. Something about the man was quickly setting her nerves on edge. He knew too much for a hermit.

"Pray tell, what exactly do you search for?"

A frown twisted Tenga's face. "You don't know the question? I thought you might. But no, I was mistaken. Still, I see you understand my search. You search for a different answer, but you search nevertheless. The same brand burns in your heart as burns in mine. Who else but a fellow pilgrim can appreciate what we must sacrifice to find the answer?" His eyes swiveled over to Mariah, finally acknowledging her presence. "And you… you who thinks you know the answer, but has yet to ask the question." She frowned, confused as to what he was rambling on about, looking at Eragon, this time catching his gaze.

"The answer to what?" asked Eragon.

"To the question we choose."

 _He's mad,_ thought Eragon, finally understanding Mariah's shifting eyes. Casting about for something with which he could distract Tenga, his gaze lit upon a row of small wood animal statues arranged on the sill below a teardrop-shaped window. "Those are beautiful," he said, indicating the statues. "Who made them?"

" _She_ did… before she left. She was always making things. Tenga bounded upright and placed the tip of his left index finger on the first of the statues. "Here the squirrel with his waving tail, he so bright and swift and full of laughing gibes." His finger drifted to the next statue in line, rambling. He paid no attention as Eragon backed away, nor when he lifted the latch to the door and slipped out of Edur Ithindra. Mariah had gone out ahead of him and was now carefully striding across the glade and through the oak trees, away from the cluster of five hills, and the demented spellcaster who resided among them.

* * *

"If they see us, we're dead," Trevin said bluntly, twirling an arrow between his fingers. "Unless you're about to march in there and kill the dragon." He wiped at his bangs dripping in his face, spraying water droplets away.

Rowan glanced at the princess, "We're not getting any closer than we did. We'll be seen. The Rider will be more than a match for the ten of us."

Tearing her gaze away from the fortress, Kendra turned around and observed her pack. They were soaked from the endless rain, and exhausted from their traveling here. After killing off several groups of the Empire's soldiers, they had hoped to be finished and returned to their camp by now, or better yet, Aberon. Kendra had pressed on however, leading them deeper into the Empire until they came upon the fortress they now watched.

"The dragon hasn't left in days, and soldiers only keep appearing. It must be one of their rendezvous points they planned on after the battle. We can't let their numbers grow or they'll be a force for the Varden to battle. In the state everyone's in now, we can't afford that. A single attack will wipe out the cause almost completely," she said.

"This weather isn't going to allow anyone to march in it, and I don't much like the thought of fighting in the rain," Trevin muttered.

She looked at Trevin and scowled, "I don't care about the weather. I want them all dead. We're going to have to avoid the dragon while we take out the soldiers. If we can do it quietly, one-by-one, we'll have a better chance of infiltrating their numbers before they take notice. By then hopefully there'll be few enough of them for us to take the advantage and kill the dragon too."

Rowan glanced toward the archer, "I don't think even Trevin could shoot that creature out of the sky."

"He can pin a fly to a wall."

"Aye, but can an arrow even pierce dragon hide? I don't think it can. If that's the case you're the only one of us who can kill it, and I don't like those odds. If we had one of our Riders, sure, or hell a few more magicians even. We have you. And I don't feel comfortable sneaking in there with a fire-breathing flying armored snake against you."

She was nose-to-nose with him, Nyx growling at her ankles. "I don't appreciate your undermining my authority, Rowan. I am in charge here."

"No, you're not," he insisted calmly. "These are my thieves you've recruited into being soldiers, princess. This is suicide. Trevin and Del? Yeah, sure, they could make it in and out of there without a problem, but these ones?" He motioned to the small group of six black-clad men. "They're just _thieves_ , Kendra. They're great at sneaking and hiding, but they can't fight soldiers like this. It's one thing when we outnumber them, or they don't have any weapons or armor."

"If they stab them in the back they can." She insisted, looking over at them. "Rowan, this is getting dangerous, I know - but, we can't go back without doing something, we don't have time."

"The Varden won't even know they're coming at all if we die in there."

"Fine," she said, "Send them back. Have them give Nasuada the directions and their numbers. But I'm staying." Kendra insisted, turning around to look at the walls of the fortress.

He rolled his eyes, sighing and trudged over to his spies, watching them stand in line before picking their way through the landscape back toward the Varden's camp. Rowan looked at Delaney, raising an eyebrow. He shrugged in response watching the others go, kneeling on the ground.

"You leave now, I'm sure you can make it back to see Eirika. There's no use for us to keep fighting this war you know. I'm sending the rest back when we get back to the Varden."

"She would rather see you," Del said, standing out of his crouch in the mud.

Rowan scoffed, "You're the best bit of family she's got."

"Aye, but that doesn't change anything." He threw the stick he'd been twiddling to the ground, meeting the assassin's gaze. "If I make it back, and something happened to you, I'd never hear the end of it."

Folding his arms, Rowan sighed and shifted his weight. The blade across his back felt heavy after so many days of travel, and his feet ached in places he didn't even know could ache. "I'd rather have you at my back than not, but this is suicide."

"Suicide or not," Del shrugged.

Trevin met their gazes and sighed, listening to the sound of the pouring rain enveloped them, the splatter of water against leaves. The three of them stood, silent agreement resting on their shoulders. After a minute of silence, Kendra asked, "You make your decision?"

Planting a hand on his hip, Rowan said, "You know we can't leave you out here on your own."

"I'll be fine. You should get back. Nyx and I have faced worse odds."

"Those odds haven't included a dragon before now - we stay." He picked his way back over to her and stared through the gap in the trees. The fortress was half in ruins from an age long past. They had circled it a few times, but the least guarded side was obvious. Here, there was only half of the exterior wall remaining, a tower used for an overlook shadowed part of the landscape, and a broken down doorway. Kendra had already figured out that it was still passable and would lead them into one of the lower halls. "This rain isn't about to let up, do you want to just go?"

"Might as well, no use waiting now, is there? Trevin." She looked at him. "I need you behind me at all times. Make sure you still have a few arrows when we make it outside. The eyes are probably your best bet..."

He grinned at her crookedly, "I'll save this one for that monster then." The archer waved her black fletched arrow before dropping it back into his quiver.

In the pouring rain, they broke the treeline of their brambled hiding place and rushed for the crumbling doorway. Looking upward, they could only see the vague outline of a guard silhouetted against a lightning flash. Kendra slipped inside after Nyx, listening to the three men behind her squeeze into the collapsed hall. "Here goes nothing."

* * *

Throughout the rest of that day and the next, the number of people on the road increased until it seemed to Eragon as if a new group was always appearing over a hill. Most were refugees, although soldiers and other men of business were also present. Eragon and Mariah avoided those they could and trudged along with chins tucked against their collar for the rest of the time. Only once did Mariah stop to purchase a dress from one of the traveling businessmen. It was plain, purple, but long and covered her blade when Mariah casted a simple spell, so that Eragon wouldn't have to carry two when in the company of others. It was unladylike for her to be carrying a blade, no matter the situation within the Empire.

Their scattered travel companions nearly forced them to spend the night in the village of Eastcroft, twenty miles north of Melian. They were an hour and a half away and in the company of three men-at-arms, when Mariah realized their location. She brushed against Eragon's mind, _We need to part ourselves from them if we are planning on avoiding Eastcroft. We're nearly upon it._

 _Darting off into the bushes isn't going to do much good with these three on us, we would have to speed ahead of them or slow down. And speeding up would place us there before them, which would cause questions to be ask if they inquired after us later._

 _So we should slow our pace until they've left us._

 _Easier said than done,_ Eragon guessed. _Would it not be suspicious for us to so abruptly change our pace?_

 _One of us could feign an injury._ Mariah mused, considering their options. It would be best for them to go unnoticed, but the thought of spending the night in an actual bed was quickly becoming appealing as opposed to spending another evening in the dirt. Never had she thought she would miss the comforts of a proper room after being stuck inside the castle of Urû'baen.

 _I feel as though they would assist us, instead of leaving us in their wake._

 _There are bound to be soldiers from the Empire inside the village, we really need to find a way to escape them. I'll be noticed in a second._ _You will likely be able to slip by unnoticed, with your appearance changed as it is, but my face is much more recognizable now._

 _Pretend you've twisted your ankle or something then._

 _Why me?_

 _You're a woman._

Her gaze snapped fire at him, _And my being female would make it more likely for me to get harmed - walking of all things? I'm afraid you've hurt yourself far worse doing less. Remember once when you fell out of that tree and broke your shoulder?_

 _Aye, but right now it would make more sense for you to trip or something of the like._

 _I would rather fight all of the soldiers inside the gates of Eastcroft weaponless._

 _Now is not the time to be arguing about this,_ he insisted, finally giving in and nearly begging. _Just this once, can't you do as you're asked?_

She reminded herself to stab him later as she gritted her teeth and tripped forward, stumbling and landing hard in the road. Her fall drew the attention of the three armed men, who looked back to her with concern. Eragon stepped to her, feigning his concern and trying to help her to her feet. Yelping, Mariah shouted, "Wait, just give me a moment to rest. I think I've twisted it."

Eragon helped her settle against a tree by the side of the road and turned toward the other travelers, "Please don't feel as though you need to wait for us because of this. We will catch up before nightfall."

One of the men huffed, speaking in a low voice, "You've got more than an hour's walk, and it's nearly nightfall already. You younglings won't make it to the gate before sundown."

"Surely they will let us through the gates after dark." Eragon said, furrowing his brow.

The other two men exchanged glances before a reply came. "It's doubtful, lad. But you can try. Hurry along as soon as your lady is up to travel again."

Eragon inclined his head, thanking them for their advice, watching them walk off down the hillside. He turned back to Mariah and sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

"I'm going to put you in a dress and see how you enjoy being treated like a woman," Mariah said, standing and brushing off her hands. "Now let's get off the road before more travelers show up. We need to start making better time, at this rate it'll be a month before we're back."

Following her off the road, Eragon glanced around and made sure they weren't spotted by anyone, picking his way through the countryside to try and help her find a suitable resting place for the night.

* * *

With Love, As Always,

Mariah Dawnsinger


	9. Ch 89: Wolf Blood

**Chapter Eighty-Nine: Wolf Blood**

Rain pounded against the hood of his cloak as Thorn dove, the ruins of a once mighty fortress carved against the leafy landscape. Murtagh dismounted in the squelching mud and turned to Kieran, shouting over a thunderclap. "The dragons will be seen if we get any closer!"

"I don't particularly want to be struck by lightning either!" She said, walking up to him. "We should go on foot, Thorn and Nasreen can join us if we need them."

He nodded and turned back to Thorn, thanking him for raising a wing against the pouring rain, offering a slight relief. Murtagh pulled the edge of his cloak back and extracted the black dragoness from his shoulder, much to her dismay. She squealed and chomped down into his hand, thrashing. "Just stay with Thorn, damnit!" He growled and opened a saddlebag for her to climb into. She tumbled inside the leather pouch and curled up, poking her nose out, staring at him, shaking and squealing."You'll be fine! It's just a little rain."

Nasreen twisted and loomed over the hatchling, reassuring her that the storm would soon pass. The magenta dragoness lowered herself into the mud so that Kieran could access her armor.

Reaching up, Murtagh pulled out his helm and armor, lacing up the pieces quickly before assisting Kieran. She drew her sword once she was ready and started making her way through the muck, slipping once on a slick rock, catching herself on Murtagh's arm.

 _I don't see any of them._

 _We probably won't be able to see anything in this weather._ He admitted, _And if you see Sigrúne or Pearce, let me know immediately. The two of us will have a better chance against the two of them._

Kieran nodded once before they entered a small enclosure of trees, narrowing her eyes at the broken fortress. Puddles littered the ground from the collecting rainwater, but there was an unmistakable pattern leading up to a doorway. Murtagh crouched and observed closely, noting the narrow paw prints of a wolf. He stood again quickly. "They were just here, the rain should have washed these tracks away by now."

"What do you mean? How long?"

"Not more than fifteen minutes ago." At Murtagh's assertion, Kieran turned and rushed toward the entrance with the other Rider on her heels.

* * *

The muscles of Roran's back popped and rippled as he heaved the boulder off the ground.

He rested the large rock on his thighs for an instant and then, grunting, pressed it overhead and locked his arms straight. For a full minute, he held the crushing weight in the air. When his shoulders were trembling and about to fail, he threw the boulder onto the ground in front of him. It landed with a dull thud, leaving and indentation several inches deep in the dirt.

On either side of Roran, twenty of the Varden's warriors struggled to lift boulders of similar size. Only two succeeded; the rest returned to the lighter rocks they were accustomed to. It pleased Roran that the months he had spent in Horst's forge and the years of farmwork before had given him the strength to hold his own with men who had drilled with their weapons every day since they turned twelve.

Roran shook the fire from his arms and took several deep breaths, the air cool against his bare chest. Reaching up, he massaged his right shoulder, cupping the round ball of muscle and exploring it with his fingers, confirming once again that no trace remained of the injury he had suffered when the Ra'zac had bitten him. He grinned, glad to be whole and sound again, being as it had seemed no likelier to him than a cow dancing a jig.

A yelp of pain caused him to look over at Albriech and Baldor, who were sparring with Lang, a swarthy, battle-scarred veteran who taught the arts of war. Even two against one, Lang held his own, and with his wooden practice sword, he had disarmed Baldor, knocked him across the ribs, and jabbed Albriech so hard in the leg, he fell sprawling, all in the span of a few seconds. Roran empathized with them; he had just finished his own session with Lang, and it had left him with several new bruises to go with his faded ones from Helgrind. For the most part, he preferred his hammer over a sword, but he thought he should still be able to handle a blade if the occasion called for it. Swords required more finesse than he felt most fights deserved: bash a swordsman on the wrist and, armored or not, he would be too preoccupied with his broken bones to defend himself.

After the Battle of the Burning Plains, Nasuada had invited the villagers from Carvahall to join the Varden. They had all accepted her offer. Those who would have refused had already elected to stay in Surda when the villagers stopped in Dauth on their way to the Burning Plains. Every able-bodied man from Carvahall had taken up proper arms – discarding their makeshift spears and shields - and had worked to become warriors equal to any in Alagaësia. The people of Palancar Valley were accustomed to a hard life. Swinging a sword was no worse than chopping wood, and it was a far sight easier than breaking sod or hoeing acres of beets in the heat of summer. Those who knew a useful trade continued to ply their craft in service to the Varden, but in their spare time they still strove to master the weapons given to them, for every man was expected to fight when the call to battle sounded.

Roran had devoted himself to training with unwavering dedication since returning from Helgrind. Helping the Varden defeat the Empire and, ultimately, Galbatorix was the one thing he could do to protect the villagers and Katrina. He was not arrogant enough to believe that he alone could tip the balance of the war, but he was confident in his ability to shape the world and knew that if he applied himself, he could increase the Varden's chances of victory. He had to stay alive, though, and that meant conditioning his body and mastering the tools and techniques of slaughter so as to avoid falling to a more experienced warrior.

As he crossed the practice field, on his way back to the tent he shared with Baldor, Roran passed a strip of grass sixty feet long whereon lay a twenty-foot log stripped of its bark and polished smooth by the thousands of hands that rubbed against it every day. Without breaking his stride, Roran turned, slipped his fingers under the thick end of the log, lifted it, and, grunting from the strain, walked it upright. He gave the log a push then, and it toppled over. Grabbing the thin end, he repeated the process twice more.

Unable to muster the energy to flip the log again, Roran left the field and trotted through the surrounding maze of gray canvas tents, waving to Loring and Fisk and the others he recognized, as well as a half-dozen or so strangers who greeted him. "Hail, Stronghammer!" They cried in warm tones.

"Hail!" he replied. _It is a strange thing,_ he thought, _to be known to people whom you have not met before._ A minute later, he arrived at the tent that had become his home and, ducking inside, stored away the bow, the quiver of arrows, and the short sword the Varden had given him.

He snared his waterskin from beside his bedding, then hurried back into the bright sunlight and, unstoppering the skin, poured the contents over his back and shoulders. Baths tended to be sporadic and infrequent events for Roran, but today was an important day, and he wanted to be fresh and clean for what was to come. With the sharp edge of a polished stick, he scraped the grime off his arms and legs and out from under his fingernails and then combed his hair and trimmed his beard.

Satisfied that he was presentable, he pulled on his freshly washed tunic, stuck his hammer through his belt, and was about to head off through the camp when he became aware of Birgit watching him from behind the corner of the tent. She clenched a sheathed dagger with both hands.

Roran froze, ready to draw his hammer at the slightest provocation. He knew that he was in mortal danger, and despite his prowess, he was not confident of defeating Birgit if she attacked, for like him, she pursued her enemies with single-minded determination.

"You once asked me to help you," said Birgit, "and I agreed because I wanted to find the Ra'zac and kill them for eating my husband. Have I not upheld my bargain?"

"You have."

"And do you remember I promised that once the Ra'zac were dead, I would have my compensation from you for your role in Quimby's death?"

"I do."

Birgit twisted the dagger with increasing urgency, the back of her fists ridged with tendons. The dagger rose out of its sheath a full inch, bearing the bright steel, and then slowly sank into darkness again. "Good," she said. "I would not want your memory to fail you. I _will_ have my compensation, Garrowsson. Never you doubt that." With a swift, firm step, she departed, the dagger hidden among the folds of her dress.

Releasing his breath, Roran sat on a nearby stool and rubbed his throat, convinced that he had narrowly escaped being gutted by Birgit. Her visit had alarmed him but it did not surprise him; he had been aware of her intentions for months, since before they left Carvahall, and he knew that one day he would have to settle his debt with her.

A raven soared overhead, and as he tracked it, his mood lightened and he smiled. "Well," he said to himself. _A man rarely knows the day and hour when he will die. I could be killed at any moment, and there's not a blasted thing I can do about it. What will happen will happen, and I won't waste the time I have aboveground worrying. Misfortune always comes to those who wait. The trick is to find happiness in the brief gaps between disasters. Birgit will do what her conscience tells her to, and I will deal with it when I must._

By his left foot, he noticed a yellowish stone, which he picked up and rolled between his fingers. Concentrating on it as hard as he could, he said, "Stenr rïsa." The stone ignored his command and remained immobile between his thumb and forefinger. With a snort, he tossed it away.

Standing, he strode north between the rows of tents. While he walked, he tried to untangle a knot in the lacing at his collar, but it resisted his efforts, and he gave up on it when he arrived at Horst's tent, which was twice as large as most. "Hello in there," he said, and knocked on the pole between the two entrance flaps.

Katrina burst out of the tent, copper hair flying, and wrapped her arms around him. Laughing, he lifted her by the waist and spun her in a circle, all the world a blur except her face, then gently set her down. She pecked him on the lips, once, twice, three times. Growing still, he gazed into her eyes, more happy than he could ever remember being.

"You smell nice," she said.

"How are you?" The only flaw in his joy was seeing how thin and pale imprisonment had left her. It made him want to resurrect the Ra'zac so they could endure the same suffering they had inflicted upon her and his father.

"Every day you ask me, and every day I tell you, 'Better.' Be patient; I will recover, but it will take time... The best remedy for what ails me is being with you here under the sun. It does me more good than I can tell you."

"That was not all I was asking."

Crimson spots appeared on Katrina's cheeks, and she tilted her head back, her lips curving in a mischievous smile. "My, you are bold, dear sir. Most bold indeed. I'm not sure I should be alone with you, for fear you might take liberties with me."

The spirit of her reply set his concern to rest. "Liberties, eh? Well, since you already consider me a scoundrel, I might as well enjoy some of these _liberties_." And he kissed her again until she broke the contact, although she remained in his embrace.

"Oh," she said, out of breath. "You're a hard man to argue with, Roran Stronghammer."

"That I am." Nodding toward the tent behind her, he lowered his voice and asked, "Does Elain know?"

"She would if he weren't so preoccupied with her pregnancy. I think the stress of the trip from Carvahall may cause her to lose the child. She's sick a good part of the day, and she has pains that, well of an unfortunate nature. Gertrude has been tending her, but she can't do much to ease her discomfort. All the same, the sooner Eragon returns, the better. I'm not sure how long I can keep this secret."

From their right a man cleared his throat. Roran swivled, instinctively putting Katrina behind him, scowling at Mark. He tipped his head forward slightly, raising an eyebrow at the two of them. "I was just coming to check on Katrina and see how she was doing, and if there was anything I could do for either of you. Considering everything that's happened recently."

Roran chewed his tongue, trying to decipher any hint of malice in Mark's voice. Before he could make a determination, Katrina pushed forward and walked to the dark-haired man, smiling. "Thank you Mark, but you have done much already." She motioned toward the dress she currently wore. "I would be ashamed to ask for more."

"Nonsense," he said, looking over her shoulder at Roran. "Nothing you two could ask for would be too much."

"Well, Roran was about to go talk to Lady Nasuada," Katrina trailed off glancing back at Roran. "She asked for an audience with him."

He huffed, "Aye. But I doubt Mark would be of help-"

"Nonsense, I'll see you to her," he said, grinning broadly and clapping Roran on his shoulder. "I would hate for him to get lost on his way."

Katrina laughed quietly, studying her beloved with a critical eye and then wet the tips of her fingers and ran them through his hair, pushing it back off his forehead. Spotting the knot at his collar, she began to pick at it, saying, "You out to pay closer attention to your clothes."

"Clothes haven't been trying to kill me."

"Well, things are different now. You're the cousin of a Dragon Rider, and you should look the part. "People expect it of you. Look at Mark."

The magician cleared his throat, trying to suppress a chuckle. "Roran and I are made of different stuff, Katrina. Now, we should go, while there's still some daylight to be had."

"Yes," she nodded, pleased at last with Roran's appearance. "I'll see you soon."

Kissing her goodbye, Roran started walking, toward the center of camp, leaving Mark to follow. Their footsteps evened out, and they proceeded in silence for a moment before Roran grumbled. "You're meddlesome, you know that?"

"Please, my suspicions were only confirmed by my eavesdropping." He rolled his shoulder in a shrug, glancing over at Roran. "I would hate to see one of the few people I consider a friend to be shamed in front of the entire resistance."

Roran grunted, chewing his tongue for a moment before responding. "How?"

"I have nothing better to do with my time. My sister's off who knows where with your cousin, and the other Riders left shortly before your arrival. Nasuada has enough guards at every moment now, and without a battle, I'm often bored."

"Boredom?"

He shrugged and smirked at Roran. "I make it my business to know my friends affairs, and to make sure that they are taken care of."

The six guards outside the pavilion lowered their weapons as they approached, and one of the Urgals, a thickset brute with yellow teeth, challenged him, saying. "Who goes there?" His accent was nearly unintelligible. Mark said nothing, but waited for Roran to announce himself.

"Roran Stronghammer, son of Garrow. Nasuada sent for me."

Pounding his breastplate with one fist, which produced a loud crash, the Urgal announced, "Roran Stronghammer and your retainer, Marcus requests an audience with you, Lady Nightstalker."

"You may admit them," came the answer from inside.

The warriors lifted their blades, and Roran carefully made his way past. They watched him, and he them, with the detached air of men who might have to fight each other at a moment's notice. Mark strolled ahead of his companion, ignoring the guards.

Inside the pavilion, Nasuada was sitting in her chair, waiting for them. Roran knelt and bowed to her. Her features and bearing were so different from those of the women Roran had grown up with, he was not sure how to act. Unlike Mark, he was unfamiliar with the court-style presentation of one's self, and his brief acquaintance with Nasuada only set his nerves further on edge. She appeared strange and imperious, with her embroidered dress and the gold chains in her hair and her dusky skin, which at the moment had a reddish cast, due to the color of the fabric walls. In stark contrast to the rest of her apparel, linen bandages encased her forearms, a testament to her astounding courage during the Trial of the Long Knives. Her feat had been a topic of constant discussion among the Varden ever since Roran had returned with Katrina. It was the one aspect of her he felt as if he understood, for he too would make any sacrifice in order to protect those he cared about. It just so happened that she cared about a group of thousands, while he was committed to his family and his village.

"Please, rise," said Nasuada. He did as he was instructed and rested a hand on the head of his hammer, then waited while she inspected him. "My position rarely allows me the luxury of clear, direct speech, Roran, but I will be blunt with you today. You seem to be a man who appreciates candor, and we have much to discuss in a small amount of time."

"Thank you, my Lady. I have never enjoyed playing word games."

At Mark's chuckle, Nasuada snapped her glance toward him. "You invited yourself along, Marcus."

"Aye, but I swear I shall be of no interruption, I will find you again when you are finished to assist you with the Varden's business." Nasuada's face twitched with surprise at his own dismissal. He inclined his head to her and stole one more glance at Roran before departing.

* * *

Striding past a soldier, Kendra watched as an arrow sprouted from his neck, spraying blood on her cheek. Smoothly, she raised her sword and fought off the next assailant, dispatching him in a few quick blows. Nyx growled behind her and sank his jaws into the leg of a man holding an axe. Delaney moved a moment later, spearing him on his sword.

Rowan was dancing with three men at once, ducking and twisting around their attacks as though he knew where they would be striking from. And from behind her, as promised, Trevin was thinning out the herd with arrow after arrow. He paused, feeling for his last one and sighed, shouldering his bow and moving to retrieve the unbroken shafts from his victims. Kendra moved to guard him while he stepped on a man's throat, wrenching the tip from his neck.

 _"_ Kieran?" A strong voice broke through the clashing weapons and groans of dying men.

Looking up the staircase, she saw an armored man with a shield, carrying a plain short sword. He was staring into what remained of the soldiers in the dining quarters and slowly started down the steps. Realizing he would know Kieran from nowhere other than the castle, Kendra raised her sword and turned to meet him. _Nyx, go._ He growled at her, whimpering slightly before slipping into the dark hallway behind her.

"You're a traitor now, Kieran. I hope you know that King Galbatorix has put a price on your head."

"My name is Kendra, you've unfortunately mistaken me for my sister."

A smirk fell over his face, "Ah of course. Alive and well. This is a surprise. If I bring you back with me, it'll prove my worth once and for all – above those other pathetic excuses that call themselves Riders." With no further warning, he launched at her, slamming his sword down towards her shoulder.

Ducking away, she stepped up twice onto the top of a table, her heels clicking against the wood, twisting and looking down at him. "You are sorely underestimating me, Rider."

"Perhaps."

They exchanged attacks, neither managing to land a solid blow. The other imperial soldiers had been slain and the three of her companions were watching their fight carefully. Trevin raised his bow, an arrow knocked, then thought better of it, glancing towards Rowan with concern. The blond man in front of her was gravely serious and unnaturally strong. Already he had shoved her with his shield arm and thrown her nearly halfway across the room. While stumbling to her feet, she raised her black sword to block a killing strike and watched his short sword shatter against it.

"What?!" He shouted, throwing the hilt to the ground. His gray eyes flashed upward and he stared for a moment at the sword in her hand. In the pommel was a large black opal, shifting colors in the flickering light of the fire of the torches on the wall. "That is a Rider's blade."

She smiled thinly, speaking, "Kveykva." At her word, in a starburst the sword started glowing, lightning arcing from the brightsteel, and forced the Rider to his knees, shaking.

Kendra walked forward and placed the tip against his chest, applying pressure. As he started to shout, there was a flash of motion on the stairway. Before the princess could respond, she heard Delaney scream as his sword clattered to the floor. Standing over him was a thin woman with striking red hair, muttering quietly to herself. He screeched, staring up at the woman, his back arching and his body going rigid.

"Del!" She took one step towards them and heard an explosive snap of bone as the red haired woman stepped over his body.

Howling, Rowan sprang towards her, sword drawn. On her other side, Trevin released his knocked arrow at her head. She lifted her right hand toward the assassin, stopping him in his tracks. On her left, the arrow froze in mid air, inches from her temple. She flicked her hand and sent the two men flying into the wall, hard enough to knock the wind out of them both. Turning her gaze on Kendra, she raised her voice, "Pearce?" Her voice came out scaly and echoing.

"I'm fine, Sigrúne." He assured her, standing and ripping the Rider's sword away from Kendra. Roughly, Pearce grabbed her wrists, holding them behind her back. She stared at Delaney's glassy eyes, and twisted body, her mouth parted slightly. "You shouldn't have resisted, princess," he spat, leaning down by her ear. "Your companion might still be alive. Strange, your sister always said she was nothing like you, but it seems you're perfectly capable of failing those you lead into battle."

Kendra threw her weight, knocking herself back against him, pulling from his grasp and throwing her leg up between his knees. She ducked under his arms, slamming her fist into his chin. In retaliation, Pearce growled and punched her in the stomach several times, then in her chest, watching her crumble slightly after a crack. The Rider, bashing his bracer against her back, slammed her to the floor. Kendra's head crashed against the stone, shaking her skull.

He forced her up the stairs and down a hallway, shoving her into a cell and clapping steel shackles around her forearms with little resistance. Her head was pounding and she could feel blood flowing from her temple. Every movement and beat of her heart gave way to shooting pain through her torso, and she was having trouble breathing. A few short words enchanted them and Pearce stepped back. She heard the door crash shut before he walked off again down the hallway, leaving her hanging from the wall, the tips of her boots barely brushing the floor.

Echoes of footsteps against the empty stone drew her attention and she lifted her head enough to watch Pearce and Sigrúne walking Trevin and Rowan down the hallway to another cell. Gritting her teeth she kicked against the wall, pulling at the binds around her wrists. Panting like a dog, she dropped again, trying to get her footing but unable to do anything but hang. "Sard!"

She leaned her head back against the cold, damp stone and shivered. Focusing, she channeled all of her energy into breaking the bonds around her wrists. Before casting the spell, she added a quick line to only allow the magic to drain her energy until she was too drained to stay conscious. Then, there was a rapid drain of energy and she blacked out.

A stinging sensation in her face woke her. Kendra's vision readjusted and she saw Pearce watching her while Sigrúne stood in a corner of the room, her hair cascading over one of her shoulders. "If I'd have known you'd nearly kill yourself trying to escape I would have made sure to add in extra precautions." Kendra spat at him, twisting and swinging her leg in a vague attempt to kick him. He chuckled and watched her struggle. "As soon as the Empire's troops return from finding the rest of your scouting party, we're returning to the capital."

"There was no one else," she said, growling at him.

"The four of you, really?"

"A smaller group draws less attention. Did Galbatorix teach you nothing? Truly? His Black Hand has degenerated more than I thought they did. Even the least competent soldier should understand, in a constrained environment it would be better to have a handful of superior soldiers able to chokehold a point than an army."

"While true, you can't honestly tell me you're bold enough to sneak into a fortress with a Shade and a Dragon Rider?"

Kendra's eyes widened as she looked at the girl behind him. Her red eyes flashed towards the princess before she started smoothly across the floor, barefoot. Observing Kendra from just over Pearce's shoulder, she tipped her head. "Did no one tell you?"

"I was disappointed to hear that the Varden's Rider killed Durza. I had hoped to do so myself, but you'll have to do."

Sigrúne sneered at her, hissing with her scathing voice, "You are in no position to make threats, princess."

Looking between them, she spotted the black Rider's sword now at Pearce's hip. Gritting her teeth, Kendra met his gaze. "If you let me have my sword, I'll fight you both right now. If I win, you let my companions go."

"And let them go tell everyone where we are? I don't think so."

"The man you killed, his cousin – his only family - is in Surda. Let them bring his body back to her. I owe him that much. Besides, they are worth nothing compared to me. Without them weighing you down, you can bring me to Urû'baen tonight if you wish."

Pearce watched her for a moment, contemplating her request. He drew the sword at his waist and lifted it slightly. "Where did you get this?"

The princess watched the ebony blade shimmer for a moment, recalling the moment she had removed the swords from Dawnsinger's saddle. Each of the Rider's blades had been enchanted, hidden beneath a plain steel exterior with a simple, elegant disguise charm. Mark had insisted Kendra keep one of them, considering she was such a high value target. Despite her hesitation to take one of the blades with her, she had been too enamored with the opal blade to leave it behind. Watching it in Pearce's hand, she felt drawn to it still and perturbed by the notion of him taking it from her. "Mariah Dawnsinger stole it from Galbatorix."

The Rider watched her with narrowed eyes and stepped closer. "You mean to tell me that Dawnsinger is still alive?"

Kendra gauged his expression before deciding on her answer, "As far as I know, yes."

He turned to Sigrúne and nodded once. She moved from the room quickly without another glance at Kendra. Pearce's expression hadn't changed but he was standing just in front of her now. "Galbatorix was sure she died after the battle of the Burning Plains. His hold over her was broken."

"I don't know where she is, she could be dead by now."

"Tell me where she is," he said, grabbing her by the throat.

Coughing, she muttered, "Sorry Rider."

"You're going back to Urû'baen – now." He released her shackles and pulled her to her feet.

Dropping her shoulder, Kendra lunged at him, reaching for her blade. Rolling to the ground, she wrestled him for it. Once she felt like she had enough of a grip, she shouted, "Kveykva!" closing her eyes against the flash of lightning that blinded Pearce long enough for her to get to her feet, rushing out of the room. She ran down the hall, gritting her teeth and gripping her side, found the next cell with Rowan and Trevin, bursting the lock open with a single word. She cut through their rope binds and hurried them out of the cell after they had grabbed their weapons.

Glancing over her shoulder, Pearce was stumbling out of the other room, blocking the way they had come in from. Turning to her right, she led them down the hallway, which opened quickly into the courtyard of the ruined fortress. They had barely pushed the door open when an enormous mouth filled with teeth deafened them from their left.

Rising to his feet was a large copper dragon, huffing and snorting. He shook his wings out and free of rain, bellowing at the three of them before lunging toward the princess. Behind her, Kendra could hear Pearce shouting for the Shade and swiveled to see her standing in front of the only escape route. Turning around, she met the Rider's gaze as he strode down the hallway toward them and gritted her teeth, backing to the corner away from the dragon.

"Kendra, you should have just left us in that cell." Rowan breathed out, tightening his grip on his sword.

Behind them, Trevin knocked an arrow, glancing between the Shade and the dragon, trying to decide which deserved more of his attention. Finally, he let loose an arrow toward the dragon's face, aiming at the eye. Before he could hit his mark the dragon exhaled a jet of flames, turning the shaft and feathers into ash before the silver tip clattered to the ground with a muffled chink.

Sigrúne rushed at them, daggers flashing into her hands seemingly out of nowhere. Kendra raised her blade and pushed her off, wincing and yelling at the other two, "Run!"

Grabbing Trevin's sleeve, Rowan pushed him along the wall, sidestepping the red haired demon before turning and bashing away her dagger with his sword. "Go Trevin!"

"Rowan!" He growled, loosing another useless arrow toward the Shade. "I'm not leaving you here!"

"You're no use in hand to hand, get somewhere useful will you?" The assassin's face flickered into a smirk before he backed against Kendra. Trevin shook his head, running away as water splashed up his boots, gripping his bow tightly.

Kendra threw off Sigrúne again, shouting and blasting fire from the air in front of her hands. "Brisingr!"

The Shade stepped back twice, chuckling as Talath wrapped himself around her. Kendra's spell landed against his scales harmlessly. Whipping his tail around, the dragon bashed the two of them clear across the courtyard. Glancing up, Kendra saw a gap in the stone wall that used to be an entryway, now blocked off on the other side, but it was deep enough to evade the flames for now. Nodding towards it, she pushed Rowan ahead of her and winced as the dragon's roar echoed in her ears. Another jet of fire rushed past them a moment later. Nose-to-nose with Rowan in the small doorway she snarled at him, "Get out while you can."

"If I leave, you die." His voice deadpanned.

"If you don't leave, I die. Get Trevin home. Tell Erika... I'm sorry about Del."

Rowan looked downward for a moment then pushed off the wall, launching out of their hiding spot, running through to the broken entryway after Trevin. Behind him, Kendra exited the gap in the wall and raised her sword, drawing Sigrúne's attention away from the man fleeing. She stepped heavily into a puddle, clutching her side with her free hand, knowing she didn't have enough energy in her to heal any of the bleeding.

Pearce stood next to her, shaking his head. "You shouldn't have ran."

"I'd rather die with a sword in my hand."

"Galbatorix wants you alive," Pearce insisted. "Sigrúne."

Before Kendra could blink, the Shade was upon her and attacking, stabbing and biting until they both tumbled to the muddy ground. She dropped her sword in the mud, and without it Kendra had no choice but to lift her arms up to shield from the attacks. The daggers slashed against her vambraces a few times before Sigrúne twisted and dug the knife into her side, just through the gap between her belt and her corset.

Gasping, she kicked the Shade off, watching her rise steadily to her feet as Pearce stood over her. "That should slow you down." He said, picking her up and throwing her thrashing body over the saddle of his dragon. Pearce climbed up behind her, tightening his legs in the straps quickly.

Sigrúne raised her hand a moment too late as Nyx launched at her throat, ripping and tearing. His ferocious snarl was drowned out by shouting a moment later. Pearce turned to look at the doorway to the fortress interior, his eyes widening at the sight of Kieran and Murtagh rushing towards him, swords drawn. Sensing his panic, Talath shot off the ground and into the stormy sky.

Whipping her dagger upward, Sigrúne stabbed into Nyx's shoulder, throwing him off and into the wall. He whimpered, crumpling into a heap after hitting his head. Kieran rushed the Shade as Murtagh went to Nyx. Pulling the dagger from his shoulder, he wiped away the wolf blood with the rain and healed the gash before calling for Thorn.

* * *

With Love, As Always,

Mariah Dawnsinger


	10. Ch 90: Mercy

**Chapter Ninety: Mercy**

It was mid afternoon the day after they had left Eastcroft in the distance when they sensed the patrol of fifteen soldiers ahead of them.

Eragon worried at his lip, _We'll be seen for sure, there's nowhere for us to hide from them._

The land around them was open and flat, devoid of any cover. They had encountered groups of soldiers before, but always in the company of other travelers. Now they were alone on the faint trail of a road.

"We could dig a hole with magic, cover the top with brush, and hide in it until they leave," said Eragon.

Sighing, Mariah slowed her pace, looking at him. "We don't have time to stop and wait for them to pass us by - besides they'll still see the mound of dirt..." She knew they were both already exhausted. They had long ago used the reserves of energy in their blades, and the night prior had been spent healing blisters and bruises on their legs and feet so they would be able to keep marching.

"Won't you be noticed?"

Looking sideways at him, she paused and bit her lip. She muttered a spell and her hair quickly flickered into blonde locks resembling Eragon's. They looked like they could be siblings now, and hoped any passersby would assume as much. She rubbed her hands in dirt on the road and painted her face to hide her skin tone, hoping that the fair hair and dirty skin were enough of a change for her to go unnoticed. "How's this...?"

He shrugged a little, "Your face is still unmistakable."

"I don't think anyone saw it often enough to remember," she muttered, watching the horsemen on the horizon.

The patrol was visible as a plume of dust for half an hour before Eragon was able to make out the shapes of the men and the horses at the base of the yellow cloud. Since he and Mariah had keener eyesight than most humans, it was unlikely the horsemen could see them at that distance, so they continued to run for another ten minutes. Then they stopped.

Mariah unfurled her dress and pulled it on over her tunic and breeches, hiding her blade under the heavy fabrics. Beside her, Eragon stowed Brom's ring in his pack and smeared dirt over his right palm to hide his silver gedwëy ignasia. They resumed their journey with bowed heads, hunched shoulders, and dragging feet. If all went well, the soldiers would assume they were just another pair of refugees.

Although they could feel the rumble of approaching hoofbeats and hear the cries of the men driving their steeds, it still took the better part of an hour for their two groups to meet on the vast plain. When they did, the Riders moved off the road and stood looking down between their feet. Eragon caught a glimpse of horse legs from under the edge of his brow as the first few riders pounded past, but then the choking dust billowed over him, obscuring the rest of the patrol. The dirt in the air was so thick, he had to close his eyes. Listening carefully, he counted until he was sure that more than half the patrol had gone by. _They're not going to bother questioning us!_ Eragon thought, feeling a pulse of surprise from Mariah at his side.

His elation was short-lived. A moment later, someone in their swirling blizzard of dust shouted, "Company,halt!" A chorus of _Woas, Steady theres,_ and _Hey there, Nells_ rang out as the fifteen men coaxed their mounts to form a circle around Eragon and Mariah. Before the soldiers completed their maneuver and the air cleared, Eragon pawed the ground for a large pebble, then stood back up. Mariah tensed, watching his movement.

 _Stop moving, they're going to get suspicious._ She was already on edge, recognizing a few of the soldiers, and praying they did not realize who she was in turn.

While he waited for the soldiers to make their intentions known, Eragon strove to calm his racing heart by rehearsing the story they had concocted to explain their presence so close to the border with Surda. His efforts failed, notwithstanding his strength, his training, the knowledge of the battles he had won, and the half-dozen wards protecting him, his flesh remained convinced that imminent injury or death awaited him. His gut twisted, his throat constricted, and his limbs were light and unsteady. _Oh, get on with it!_ he thought. He longed to tear something apart with his hands, as if an act of destruction would relieve the pressure building inside of him, but the urge only heightened his frustration, for he dared not move. The one thing that steadied him was Mariah's presence.

 _Your heartbeat is so rapid, you sound as though you're about to have it come bursting from your chest, calm yourself Shadeslayer._ She insisted, as if reading his thoughts. _You and I shall live to see another day, I will destroy them before they capture you, even if it costs me dearly._

The voice that had ordered the patrol to halt again issued forth. "Let me see your faces." Mariah tensed as she glanced at Eragon who raised his head, looking at the mustached soldier upon his horse before turning her head upward slowly, relieved that she had caked dirt on her face prior. The other soldiers held spears pointed at Eragon and Mariah. So much dirt covered the men that it was impossible to see the flames stitched on their tunics.

"Now then," said the man, and his mustache wobbled like an unbalanced set of scale. "Who are you? Where are you going? And what is your business in the king's lands?" Then he waved a hand. "No, don't bother answering. It doesn't matter. Nothing maters nowadays. The world is coming to an end, and we waste our days interrogating peasants. Bah! Superstitious vermin who scurry from place to place, devouring all the food in the land and reproducing at a ghastly rate. At my family's estate near Urû'baen, we would have the likes of you flogged if we caught you wandering around without permission, and if we learned that you had stolen from your master, why, then we'd hang you. Whatever you want to tell me is lies. It always is…

"What have you got in that pack of yours, eh? Food and blankets, yes, but maybe a pair of gold candlesticks, eh? Silverware from the locked chest? Secret letters for the Verden? Eh? Cat got your tongue? Well, we'll soon sort the matter out. Langward, why don't you see what treasures you can excavate from yonder knapsack, there's a good boy."

It was then Mariah knew that they wouldn't be leaving without a struggle. She tensed with the knowledge her grandfather's ring was inside that pack. She immediately felt her hand twitch toward her blade at her waist under her skirts. She saw one of the soldiers behind Eragon out of the corner of her eye, lifting his spear to bash it against the backpack. Her lip curling into a snarl, she lashed out and gripped the haft of the weapon before it struck him. The soldier started in surprise at her strength and sudden movement.

"What do you think you're doing!?" he spat out in surprise.

"Don't hit him." She said quietly, tensing as she counted how many soldiers there were, and which ones already looked scared.

The soldier with the bushy mustache bristled and lifted his voice, spouting gibberish until Mariah glared at them and split open her dress, drawing Ancalë. As she moved, she dropped the energy she was using to keep up her appearance, her hair instantly draining back to its black color. Ribbons of purple cotton fluttered to the dirt as she cleaved the nearest spear in half, watching the soldier gawk at her strike. There was half a moment of pause where she was standing in front of them all, and one of them recognized her, and her sword.

"Lady Dawnsinger!"

"Have mercy general, we didn't know!" One of them yelped.

The mustached soldier gaped at her, his mouth opening and closing, unsure of how to proceed. She flicked her hair from her face and raised her chin up, staring him down. "Traitorous wench! Your capture would guarantee a fortune. I wouldn't have to spend weeks on horseback patrolling backroads and searching peasants!"

A smirk touched her lips, "Let's see you try then, Sir Dalyon. I'm _certain_ you and your soldiers are a match for two Dragon Riders." At that she lunged forward, shooting the tip of Ancalë through the nearest soldier's chest. Behind her, Eragon twisted around, yanked the spear from the hands of the man who had been attempting to tormenting him, and used it to knock him off his horse. As the man landed, Eragon stabbed him through his heart, breaking the blade of the spear on the metal plates of the soldier's gambeson. Releasing the spear, Eragon dove backward, his body parallel with the ground as he passed underneath seven spears that were flying toward where he had been. The lethal shafts seemed to float above him as he fell. Mariah ducked past a spear pointed towards her and leaped atop the back of the rider-less horse, using the height advantage and tearing open the throat of the next soldier as he toppled over into the dirt. Flicking her hair out of her face, she looked up to watch Eragon for a moment, a small smile gracing her lips.

* * *

Spinning her blade and cutting into Sigrúne's wrist, forcing her to drop her remaining dagger, Kieran lunged. Behind her, she felt the rush of air that was Thorn, and heard Murtagh climbing into his saddle to pursue Talath and Pearce. A moment later, Nasreen landed just behind Sigrúne, releasing a screeching roar at her before snapping in an attempt to rend her in two. Kieran thrusted toward her chest, missing her as she all but disappeared for a moment. Avoiding the dragoness, she darted for the entryway of the fortress and threw a spell towards Kieran's feet. Blood dribbled from her neck and wrist as she barred her teeth toward the princess.

Below her, the puddle Kieran was standing in turned to ice, freezing her in place. She snarled and stabbed Eirian downward, the strike shattering the ice like glass.

 _Kieran!_ Nasreen roared, stomping forward after her Rider. _Do not pursue her!_ The princess rushed after Sigrúne, but found no trace of her after she entered the ruins.

"Kieran..." The scaly voice echoed around the halls like silver.

"Odette."

"Not Odette, remember? We are not she."

The princess bit her tongue and stepped forward, listening to the single click of her heel on the stone. "Right." The hallway was empty, with cobwebs clinging to every shadowed corner. Her midnight blue gaze flickered across the doors lining the left wall and gritted her teeth, tensing.

"Dawnsinger was the one who suggested a new name for us. She was kind to us, though we were not kind to her. Protected us from those who wanted to use us."

"You are helping Pearce and Talath now?" Kieran asked, turning her head to look behind her, only able to see Nasreen nudging Nyx in the background of her vision.

"Yes, they are our wings. Excellent fliers, don't you agree?"

"They took off quite quickly, yes. But they left you here alone."

"We are able to take care of ourselves. What about you princess? Are you able to take care of yourself without your knight?"

Kieran smirked, lifting her voice so it came out as nearly mocking, "I'm not the one hiding."

She flicked her eyes around the empty hall and gripped her sword tighter, turning and stabbing Sigrúne in the stomach. With a screech, Sigrúne dropped to her knees. Standing over her, Kieran drew her blade back for a killing strike, aiming at her heart.

With a shrill roar, like that of a wounded dragon, the Shade lifted her head, eyes glowing bright turquoise, forcing Kieran to stumble back and clap her hands over her ears. Instinctively, she closed her eyes and cringed. A moment later, she felt the blinding light fade. Daring to open her eyelids again, Kieran found no trace of her.

Retrieving Eirian, she walked back out into the rain and watch Nasreen gingerly picking up Nyx in her claws. _Did you kill the she-devil?_

"I don't believe so, I stabbed her in the stomach, not her heart." Kieran insisted, looking at the wolf in her magenta paws. "She will likely have to pull herself back together, but I doubt she will be pleased when we meet her again."

The princess paused at the sight of a black sword in the mud, walking over and retrieving it. Wiping the hilt clean of dirt, she saw the black opal. "Pearce must have dropped this."

 _Bring it with us. We should follow Thorn and Talath, if Murtagh becomes overwhelmed, we should be there to assist him._ Kieran nodded, sheathing Eirian and bounded up into her saddle, strapping her legs down and holding on as Nasreen fought against the gale.

* * *

The quarrel lasted no more than three minutes.

Jagged rocks tore at Eragon's stomach as he tumbled to a stop. Grimacing, he sprang upright, drawing Undbitr. Four soldiers who had dismounted confronted him with drawn swords. They charged. Dodging to the right, he swept through the first man's wrist, cutting his dominant hand clean off. He collapsed, shouting in pain before he twisted and stabbed him in the chest. Eragon dispatched his next two opponents by twisting their heads until their spines snapped. The fourth soldier was so close by then, running at him with sword held high, Eragon could not evade him. He stilled, waiting for his approach, ducked below his swing and rammed Undbitr up into his throat. Turning, he expected to see another attack, but found only three remaining soldiers grappling with Mariah in the distance. It appeared almost as though she was toying with them.

The horses had scattered during the commotion. As she fought with the soldiers, one of them turned and fled, running at his full speed, bolting away from her toward one of the horses. Immediately, Mariah straightened and dispatched the other two soldiers, sprinting after him like a wolf hurtling after a fawn. She overtook him in four solid strides, tripping him and forcing him to the ground. As Eragon moved toward them, he could hear the shrieks from the young man.

"Please! I'm too young to die. General Dawnsinger, I beg you, my parents would miss me dearly. I haven't even a wife or child! Why? What have you against me?!" His sobs wracked his body as tears streamed down his face, examining the bloodbath of mangled corpses that had been his unit.

She knelt down beside him, watching his face. Her voice came out soothingly, in an even tone, "You've sworn an oath to Galbatorix-"

"This is my fifth mission. I only did what I was ordered to! I didn't have a choice."

"And you know I'm alive. You know that I am traveling in disguise toward Surda, and to the Varden-"

"I'm a good person! I will tell no one! They will never know I saw your face!"

"I am sorry." She admitted to him, touching his face gently.

"Why are you doing this? You're a monster!" he screamed.

Mariah's face contorted a bit as she caught glimpses of herself in his consciousness. Blood spattered her face; her hair was wild and matted with sweat. Her eyes were wide as she stared at the young man in front of her, close to her in age. "Colart…"

He quitted as she said his name, his mouth quivering as he cried.

"You have done your duty as a soldier for Galbatorix. If I could spare your life, I would do so right now. Your oath you swore to Galbatorix was indeed not of your own volition; however I'm afraid it's far too dangerous for me to let you leave. You will tell the king where I am, and he will find me and capture me again, or kill me for treason. If ever someone were to find out you tried to submit to me and betray the king, you would be hanged." She brushed away his tears, whispering quietly. "Thank you, for helping me Colart."

"Lady Dawnsinger," he whimpered, watching her cautiously.

Steeling herself, she muttered quietly under her breath, watching the life drain from his eyes and the ebb of his energy flowed into her body through her fingertips. The soldier was limp as she gently lowered him to the ground, pushing up and standing once again. In one clean motion, she plunged her blade into and out of his chest. She sheathed Ancalë at her side and turned toward Eragon, avoiding his gaze. "We should go, before we're seen."

He watched as she stepped away from the soldier and swallowed hard. "You could have just killed him."

"I did."

"No… I mean, without speaking to him first. He was scared and you calmed him, you even thanked him."

Mariah shrugged a bit, "I took his life to preserve ours. It was the least I could do... Make sure each of them have a fatal wound before we leave, no one needs to know that we were here. I don't want to fight Hal if he catches wind that I'm in the area. And Pearce is a good enough flier to catch up to us in a day..." They spent nearly ten minutes going through the soldiers bodies and belongings, making the incident look as though it had been done by bandits or the like. "Grab your armor."

Eragon glanced toward her and bit his lip. "I am glad you're here with me. I don't know if I would have been able to fight them all on my own." He retrieved his scattered armor, rewrapped it in cloth, and returned it to the bottom of his pack.

"I'm sure you would have been fine," she assured him, stepping over a large rock, finally catching his gaze. "At least, I would hope you know how to fend of fifteen normal soldiers at once. You did fine on the Burning Plains when I was watching."

"I had Saphira with me then, it was different. I am tired and drained now."

Mariah shook her head, "Nevertheless, you are a... good soldier. Better than most could hope to be."

"More like murderer."

"You do not kill blindly unless necessary... and we have both dealt our fair share of defenseless deaths. Now, let us leave this bloodshed before another patrol comes along. I wish to be far gone when they are discovered." As they made their way south west, the first of the carrion birds dropped from the sky behind them to start devouring their feast.

* * *

Thorn pressed against the gales, able to just see the tail of the copper dragon in the lightning flashes. It was true, Talath was quick, but he was also struggling against the windstorm more than his pursuer. The lightning had all but lessened as their chase began, leading them northeast away from the lake.

Murtagh pressed low against Thorn's neck, squinting against the ferocious wind and rain. _Let's get overhead and drop in on them. We'll be able to knock them out of the sky._

 _Aren't you worried about hurting Kendra?_

 _We need to get in close enough to get her anyway._

 _Very well,_ he said, pressing his wings into throwing them both upward. In a few strong movements he was above them, diving and opening his jaws wide.

Talath shrieked at the sight of the massive red dragon's maw, thrashing. In the thunderstorm, the ruby dragon's silhouette flashed against the lightning strikes just as he clamped down into Talath's tail. He whipped around, spouting flames from his jaws.

A thunderclap startled Kendra out of her hazy sleep, blinking against the rain. She watched Pearce lift his shield to block an attack from a sword. Squinting, she saw the outline of another dragon and groaned as the pain in her stomach spread. She knew she was bleeding internally and had at least one broken rib, but drained of her energy there was nothing she could do to heal herself. Talath must have been a good flier, because even in the storm she wasn't being jostled about. There was a wave of heat as one of the dragons loosed a jet of fire, then it dissipated again in a sizzle of rain.

After a moment of calm, there was a sudden lurch and she felt herself slipping against the smooth leather of the saddle. Grasping at a strap she cried out loud, the pain in her abdomen bringing tears to her eyes. But she knew she was in the air - high in the air - and that if she fell she would die for sure. Better to deal with the pain and suffer, than fall and become a splotch of red on the landscape below.

She heard another clash of metal on metal and winced at the proximity of the noise. Pearce shouted at the other Rider before the clashing came again. This time it was coupled with a flip from the dragons, as they slashed and bit at one another. Unable to grasp the leather against all her weight, she screamed as her hands lost all their grip against the soaked leather. In freefall, she tried to think through a spell to catch her before she hit the ground, but found no words. Overhead, the dragons were still in a grapple, struggling to get apart again.

The red dragon bashed his tail against the other and dug his back claws into his fleshy stomach, tearing copper scales away as Talath reared before shooting off in to the dark clouds; pushing off, tucking in his wings, and dropping backwards, the red dragon dropped straight for her. Kendra shouted, flailing her arms and rolled in the air, realizing the ground was closing in quickly before fainting.

Thorn roared as Talath dropped from the clouds above, barreling into him as a flash of lightning shot past them. _Thorn._

 _I can handle these two._ The dragon reassured him, shooting a jet of fire past Pearce's face. Murtagh already had half of the straps unbuckled. Struggling with one, he simply cut through the rest with Zar'roc, sheathing his sword and jumping out of the saddle, diving for Kendra.

Blood pounded in his ears as he noted the lake below quickly rising to meet them. Muttering under his breath a spell to help soften their landing, he reached out, catching Kendra's arm and pulling her to his chest. Throwing his weight, he flipped, staring up at the two dragons fighting in the air before slamming his eyes closed, bracing himself. The surface of the lake felt like stone against the back of his armor as water engulfed them, touching the sandy floor.

He kicked his legs, pushing them back up for air, struggling to stay afloat, encased in so much steel. Gasping, Murtagh cast a spell to keep them afloat, watching as Thorn finally succeeded in fending off Talath and Pearce with a final burst of scorching fire. They hovered for a moment, silhouetted against the lightning before vanishing into the storm.

Kendra sputtered water out of her mouth, coughing hard. Blearily, she stared up at Murtagh under his helm, wincing at the split in her side. A hand against her waist was followed by a sudden warmth, "Waíse heill." She reached up towards his face as he held onto her. "Kendra?" She grasped his shoulder as she felt herself slipping again, falling unconscious. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her body against him as the last of her strength faded.

Murtagh looked up as Nasreen winged over toward them. Kieran was standing in her saddle and sat again, relieved at seeing her sister's body. _Is she alright?_

 _Alive, but fainted. Did you see any of the others?_ He said, swimming as well as he could toward the nearest shore with one arm.

 _I sensed Trevin, yes, and another with him. We should bring them with us._

Nodding, Murtagh panted, carrying Kendra out of the lake. Thorn landed, as he gently set Kendra on the ground before helping Nasreen with the unconscious wolf. As soon as Nyx was extricated from her paw, Nasreen spread her wings again and soared off with Kieran to find the others. Murtagh healed the wolf's wound and placed a sleeping spell upon him so he would not wake until it was safe for him to do so.

Shielding them from the rain while they waited, Thorn spread out his wing and curled around them. _I'm sorry for letting Talath get away._

Murtagh knelt down beside Kendra, healing the wound against her head first before gently setting his hands on her waist. "It's fine, Pearce will get his. We just need to make it back safely. If it weren't for this damn storm..." His hands started to glow with a ruby light, muttering healing incantations as he assessed the damage Pearce had done to the princess.

 _As it is, we cannot ignore the weather. Nasreen and I will do what we can._

The magenta dragoness soared back a few minutes later and landed heavily in the mud, keeping her left paw off of the ground. Rowan looked down at Kendra, noting her vague breathing. "You came just in time."

Murtagh nodded, "We need to get out of here as soon as possible. Before the Rider or the Shade decides to come back."

Looking down from Nasreen's back, Trevin asked, "You didn't kill them?"

He shook his head, picking up Kendra and laying her across his saddle. "I didn't get the chance." Pressing a hand against Kendra's cheek, he sighed and strapped her to the black saddle the best he could considering her condition.

Kieran watched Murtagh for a moment before speaking, "Sigrúne disappeared before I could kill her."

"I assumed as much," he said. "Nasreen, can you carry three?"

 _I will carry four._ She looked back at Rowan and Trevin, adjusting the weight in her forepaw. The assassin settled himself in the saddle behind Trevin, holding tight as Kieran instructed.

 _Four?_ Murtagh asked, looking at Kieran.

 _We did not make it just in time..._ she said back. _Sigrúne already killed their companion by the time we arrived._

He frowned and glanced at the lifeless body dangling in Nasreen's left paw. Murtagh lowered his gaze to Kendra and sighed as Thorn stretched his wings. He carefully picked up Nyx in his paw. They started their journey home, Murtagh holding Kendra against him, trying to heal more of her wounds as the dragons soared out of the storm.

* * *

With Love, As Always,

Mariah Dawnsinger


	11. Ch 91: Burning Fire

**Chapter Ninety-One: Burning Fire**

That night, Eragon sat staring at their meager fire, chewing on a leaf. They had finished a small meal of roots, seeds and greens from the surrounding countryside. After their fight with the soldiers, the thought of taking another life churned Eragon's stomach. Mariah hadn't bothered to argue with him tonight.

It was late, and they would have to get an early start the next morning, but neither seemed keen on sleeping. Eragon leaned back on his elbows and stretched out his legs, content. He dared not speculate on the future of their journey, for if he did, he would begin to ask himself how he and Saphira could possibly defeat Galbatorix and Shruikan, and then panic would sink its icy claws into him.

He fixed his gaze on the flickering depths of the fire. There, in the writhing inferno, he sought to forget his cares and responsibilities. But the constant motion of the flames soon lulled him into a passive state where unrelated fragments of thought, sounds, images, and emotions, drifted through him like snowflakes falling from a calm winter's sky. And amid that flurry, there appeared the face of the soldier who had begged for his life. Eragon saw him crying and again heard his desperate pleas, and heard Mariah's soothing tone as she prepared to take his life.

Somewhere in the darkness surrounding them, a wolf howled. From various locations across the plains, a score of other wolves answered, raising their voices in a discordant melody. The eerie singing made Eragon's scalp tingle and goosebumps break out on his arms. Then, for a brief moment, the howls coalesced into a single tone that was similar to the battle-cry of a charging Kull.

Eragon shifted, uneasy. Spotting his motion, Mariah's lips curled into a small smile before she threw her head back and matched the howling tone, pitching and diving with the pack hidden in the darkness. The action surprised him so much he jumped slightly and sighed. At this, she let out a laugh, shaking her head. "You shouldn't be scared of the wolves you know. They are beautiful creatures. Humans always portray them in stories as vicious, lonely, and demonic, but they are pack animals. They care for one another, and enjoy the company of their loved ones. Few other creatures raise their pups in a social group thusly, or are as a fiercely loyal as a wolf to its pack."

"It's not the wolves out there," he assured her, pulling a knee to his chest. "It's the ones in here." He tapped his forehead much the same she had when they had been speaking to Roran before Helgrind.

"Our minds are always our worst enemy," she agreed. "Fear, hate, desires, doubt…all of our selfish and obsessive tendencies, that is what makes us most dangerous, and afraid."

Eragon watched her for a moment, his mind flickering back to the young soldier, before asking, "Does it bother you when you kill? I know I asked before, but that was then, with Roran…"

"Of course it does," she said, with a tone of disbelief in her voice. "I told you as much before."

"Yes, but you don't seem to struggle with it so deeply as I do. It's as though you are... immune to the after effects."

Mariah shook her head, "I am as haunted as you are. I learned how to deal with the emotional consequences while in Urû'baen. Not well, for it does still haunt me, especially now, but I became numb to blood and to pain." Shifting forward, she moved onto the balls of her feet, holding her hands to the flames. As her lips parted with a whispered spellsong, she twisted her fingers through the air, contorting the fire to her will. A stray spark flew out toward his face and she halted its motion, pulling it back to the pit.

"I just want to know... how you are supposed to feel when you kill?" He scowled at the fire, his brow furrowed before he looked up at her face, aglow with firelight.

"Sometimes it must be done."

"That doesn't explain why or how I feel the way I do."

"What is your reason for fighting?"

"To protect those who need me to do so for them."

"Aye," she said quietly. "And your cause, whatever that may be, is it just reason to take a life? Whatever you are protecting, whoever you are protecting – is it a just, good reason for taking the precious life of another, even if your opponent is simply doing what he must to protect those people and beliefs _he_ is protecting?" Mariah paused and watched him. "Mark has a hierarchy – a set of standards that he constantly evaluates and reorders to determine his course of action. At the top of that list is me, as it has always been. Below that was my grandfather, then you and Saphira, Aluora. It now includes Nasuada and Kendra. The individuals he cares most about, whether because of love, loyalty, or personal gain, they come first. The Varden follows last; though you may not at first guess he would willingly hand over information about the Varden to protect someone he cares for.

"If someone was to capture me and you, he would rescue me. If someone were to capture Nasuada or Kendra, he would likely rescue Nasuada because he has known her longer. Though, perhaps I am wrong in my assumption." She sighed, shaking her head. "My point, of course, is he never wavers in his standards, no matter the situation. If there is a danger to one of the people in the hierarchy, so long as it does not interfere with the protection of someone higher, he will do everything in his power to protect them. If it does interfere, he must question his hierarchy or follow through with no regrets. It's how he sleeps at night."

Eragon blinked, "So you're suggesting I have a list – a hierarchy?"

"It wouldn't work for you of course," she said, shaking her head, "You have too many people you wish to keep safe. No, yours is a more difficult course of action, for you must constantly evaluate your situation and discern in the moment whether the life you are about to take is a necessary evil… or not. Which is why I suggest you determine whether your _cause_ is worth it, for a larger goal leaves more room for error in your judgement. There will be those you kill unnecessarily, and there will be those you let live because you don't wish to take more lives, but later learn you should have."

"Is that how you view the battles you've fought in?" Eragon asked her, genuinely wanting to know.

She closed her eyes, her jade eyes vanishing below her dark lashes. It took a few minutes for her to respond to his question. "I was not myself during the battle of the Burning Plains," – for she knew that was the true question he was asking, - "however my actions were my own. I murdered Hrothgar by mine own hand, and I shall live with that knowledge the remainder of my immortal life. No one deserves an early death at the hand of another."

Watching her face and listening to her voice, he knew she regretted taking Hrothgar's life. It had been one thing that had upset him most about her betrayal. He twisted the ring around his finger, the firelight catching on the sapphire in the center. Aren, her grandfather's ring – no, _his_ ring. A gift given to him by Islanzadí in Ellesméra, and a gift from Brom before then, through Mariah. She had insisted he would need it more than Mark, and that it wouldn't fit on any of her fingers. His eyes glanced toward her hands and agreed, they were too dainty to carry the thick band and heavy sapphire.

Eragon leaned back and pulled Undbitr into his lap by the hilt, brushing off specks of dirt on the shaft. The lengths Mariah would have had to go through in order to steal the blade away from Galbatorix unnoticed were ridiculous once he had started thinking about it. On top of her deception to steal her grandfather's sword, the fact that Mark had been the one to give her the blade upon their departure made him question their intentions. "Did Mark know what this blade was when he gave it to you?"

Looking up from the fire, Mariah watched him and blinked slowly. "I'm not entirely sure. I would assume he recognized the enchantment upon the blade. He's the one who taught me how to conceal items so well in the first place." As he traced the rune on the outside of the sheath, she saw a smile touch his lips. "I had always intended for it to go to you." She admitted, blushing when he looked at her. "When I stole it, I was thinking about how Murtagh should have Zar'roc."

"By that logic, Undbitr should have gone to Mark, or you, not me. It would be his by birthright, as Zar'roc is to Murtagh."

She shook her head. "I am more partial to the traditional idea of matching the color of a Rider's blade to their Dragon's scales than I am to inheritance. Trite as it is…"

"Thank you," Eragon insisted. "You risked much to get this to me."

Mariah nodded, looking at her own blade sitting beside her, drained of its energy. She let out a heavy sigh, turning her head up toward the sky. After a moment of searching the stars for constellations, she reached up, unraveling her braid and combing her fingers through the locks. Biting the ribbon of cloth holding the braid, she started re-weaving the strands together when Eragon cleared his throat.

"I think you should tell me about what happened while you were gone."

She stopped, looking up at him; the piece of fabric between her teeth. Since their argument the night after the battle they had barely mentioned her time in Urû'baen. That he was openly asking now was strange and set her on edge. If this was just another way for him to lash out at her actions, she didn't know if she wanted to tell him anything. However, if it was a way to start reconciling their friendship, at the very least, civility toward one another, she was more than willing to give it a try.

Mariah finished re-tying her braid and pulled the ribbon tight against her hair, holding the twist together. "I will start after the battle of Farthen Dûr." Watching her intently through the flames, he settled his back against the rock, resolving to listen to her exploits in full.

"I left you that morning in my room, where you had committed to sleeping in a chair beside my bed, with the insistence I would return soon. A lie I had not yet realized was such. I departed with Murtagh, Ajihad, and the others confident we would return victorious. As you probably know, we routed many, but not all of the Urgals within the tunnels the days following. It was a daunting task and one I wish never to repeat.

"We returned, and with Tronjheim in view, Andrar and I realized something was amiss. The Twins had betrayed us from the start, and murdered the rest of our party with the help of a group of enchanted Urgals. Before falling unconscious, I recall hearing Saphira, but that was the last of what I remember. The Twins drained mine and Andrar's energy to spirit us to Urû'baen with Murtagh – I am glad Roran killed them during the battle on the Burning Plains. They tortured both of us for a time before bringing us to Galbatorix.

"He had trapped Andrar outside, and already racked Murtagh's mind for information by the time he reached me, he had already gleaned quite a bit of information. My mind was still damaged from the incident with Durza and he could gain nothing from me. I was brought to Murtagh, where I healed his and my wounds. I tried to scry you, and Mark, to no avail. The wards on the castle were too powerful. The next day he allowed us to bathe, dress, and be fed. He threatened to end Murtagh's life if I ran. We knew he would not destroy Andrar if he could help it, but Murtagh, he was expendable. And the only other thing I treasured while in Urû'baen."

Mariah paused, resolving not to pull any of her punches. He had asked for the truth, and she was going to give it to him, everything she could remember.

"I was given a blade and told to fight Kieran. At the time, I had no idea who she was. When she appeared, my soul drained at learning she was Galbatorix's daughter, and a Rider. His secret weapon. After fighting her, and losing to her so ferociously, I was given the chance to see Andrar. He was, for the most part, unscathed. Murtagh and Kieran told me of their upbringing together with Kendra under Galbatorix's rule. And then I saw Nasreen – Kieran's dragoness. She was enormous. Not in comparison to Shruikan, but still nearly twice as large as Andrar. She was fearsome to behold and threatened more than once to destroy us if necessary.

"They told me of the remaining eggs. At this my heart shattered, knowing that Galbatorix had in his possession eight dragon eggs. Eight. Not simply the one remaining buried inside the castle's walls. I felt defeat the moment I learned of his collection. As if this wasn't enough, I was told the same day that I would be traveling to Carvahall to collect Roran. If I did not succeed in capturing him and convincing him to join the Empire, I would be forced to torch Carvahall. In the meantime, Murtagh was to remain in Urû'baen, in the event of my disobedience, he would be killed."

Eragon's lip twitched at the thought of Murtagh being used as leverage, and at his cousin being captured by the Empire. He was thankful that was not the case, especially now that he had been reunited and reconciled with Roran after the battle. "Instead you helped him escape, and burned Carvahall to the ground…"

She nodded, her eyes glistening with tears. It took her a moment to regain herself before she continued. "The Ra'zac must have captured Katrina shortly after, or during the blaze. I don't recall seeing her being captured by them. And Galbatorix didn't deem it important enough to tell me of her capture. On our return, I fought with Kieran, distraught at having destroyed our home. She nearly killed me." A shiver of recollection spiraled down her back, forcing her gaze to linger on the faded scars swirling over her skin on her arm. "She brought me back to Urû'baen, where Murtagh revived me.

"In my absence, Thorn had hatched for Murtagh. Though I was displeased with the idea of another Rider for Galbatorix at first, I quickly reassured myself that I was thankful it was Murtagh of all people. There are few others I would trust so readily with such power."

Mariah steeled herself, feeling her heart start to pulse more rapidly. "I confided in Murtagh, as my only friend. I had Andrar, but I had nowhere else to turn for human companionship. My fear at the hopelessness of our situation, and the reassurance that I would surely go mad without some form of company forced… my feelings to surface. I spent much time alone in his company, though nothing came from it. I had not realized at the time that he longed so ardently for another…"

The situation was sounding familiar, and Eragon's ears burned with the knowledge that Murtagh had indeed been a target of her affections, as he had once suspected. He felt an irrational rush of anger and jealousies overtake him as she described her situation, wanting to harm Murtagh in the worst way. The dream of hers that he had fallen into after Durza devastated her mind had come true, in a way.

He never wanted Murtagh to take her away from him, but it had happened, and there had been nothing he could do about it. Moreover, the knowledge that she had willingly confessed her feelings for Murtagh while captive in Urû'baen made him angry with her. This too was irrational, he knew. But it felt like she had been adulterous, despite them never fully articulating their feelings toward one another. Punching himself mentally he realized that he had done the same in pursuing Arya, but that had been different in a way - he'd thought she was dead.

Eragon half-listened to her speaking of her time in Urû'baen, how the new Riders had been chosen by Galbatorix through a bloodbath, how she, Kieran, and Murtagh had all been sent to recover a Rider's Sword buried deep within a ruined fortress. She described her training and time spent in the library Galbatorix kept hidden away from the rest of the world. He held his tongue, listening, forcing himself to hear her exploits without him at her side.

"…the new Riders were finally given their dragons. Some of them hatched of their own accord, others were forced. Once, Galbatorix forced a green egg to hatch, but the hatchling didn't make it." She curled her legs up to her chest, lowering her forehead to her knees as tears welled in her eyes. A few broke through and slid down her cheeks. "She died at his hand and I could do nothing to save her. I stole her away. Her scales were so cold… Kieran… Kieran helped me give her a proper burial. I think… that same night I started becoming friends with her. We finally agreed on something. Galbatorix destroying dragons for his own cause was despicable."

She let out a breath, wetting her lips. "I am remembering much more of this than I anticipated. Kieran wiped my memories so Galbatorix wouldn't learn of my treachery."

"Perhaps she did not perform the spell as thoroughly as she had intended," suggested Eragon lightly.

Nodding in agreement, she continued, "Before Murtagh returned, Galbatorix summoned me to his throne room. He told me to swear allegiance to him. I don't think he ever learned my true name, or I would have been unable to overcome him. Instead, he invaded my mind and possessed it like a gemstone, or a book. He made me draw a blade against myself. And when Murtagh returned, he instantly could tell something was different, mentioned as such. Though we were no longer were pursuing our affections for one another, he still tried to stand beside me as a companion."

Eragon blinked, realizing he had missed the point at which she had mentioned their separating. A new emotion bubbled up inside his chest, one he did not have a name for. If their romance had truly been so short-lived, he couldn't understand why she would have bothered to even mention it, unless she felt compelled to tell him for some reason.

"We taught the new dragons and their Riders, but only succeeded in the most basic of training. The battle approached far too quickly, and even with the enhancements on their dragons from Galbatorix's spells, we were unable to train them quickly enough to be effective Riders."

"Their dragons must only be a few weeks old."

"Aye," she nodded. "They are still very young mentally, which I am hoping will be enough for us to be able to defeat them, should we come across them." Mariah paused, sighing and rubbing her face. "I've lost my place…"

"The Battle of the Burning Plains… I would suspect is next."

Mariah nodded. "Under Galbatorix's possession spell, I was forced to head the battle as one of his generals. With no recollection of my plans to revolt against him, I had convinced myself, Andrar, Murtagh and Kieran all that my intentions were to capture you and Saphira... and capture or kill Mark, Nasuada… and who stood in our way. I succeeded in murdering Hrothgar, and would have succeeded in killing Nasuada had Mark not intervened." A smile touched her lips as she remembered the punch he'd landed on her cheek. "He's quite determined when he wants to be."

Eragon wetted his lips, speaking, "He told me before the battle that there were Riders on the other side of the fight. He had never mentioned it was you or Murtagh. When I accused him of hiding things from me, he admitted to it. I had claimed he could not be a match for a Dragon Rider, but clearly I was wrong in my assumption. Never would I have thought he had it in him to fight against you, regardless."

She nodded. "There was a moment during my struggle with Mark when clarity formed again in my mind, and I recognized that my intentions were not what I had initially planned. Before, knowing I would one day be able to face you in combat, my plan was to find you on the field and join you again, turning on the Empire. I had it in my head that I would destroy hordes of Galbatorix's soldiers… but that was before my mind was twisted into being allied with them. He is very convincing when he wants to be."

"And on the plateau, with Murtagh…"

"Mark had knocked some sense into me and I remembered my initial plan to get to you. But Murtagh's orders were to capture you, so I had to reach you before he could do so. He was still under his oath he'd sworn to Galbatorix through me, and I prayed that I was right in saying that I was the one the oath had been given to."

"You didn't know?" He asked, shocked that she would have gambled on such a chance.

She shook her head, "Not until just before I blacked out, insisting that neither of them would harm you."

Eragon watched her evenly. She had risked her own life, and Andrar's numerous times to get back to the Varden. He could see now where her plans had gone awry. She had mentioned a few times that she had tried to scry him and Mark, but that her efforts were foiled in some way. The Mariah that had been taken from Farthen Dûr _had_ died, of that much he was certain, because this was not the same girl he had left home with. This was not even the same person he had saved from the after effects of Durza's spell upon her. No, she was cut from stronger material now. She had killed mercilessly and learned much about the world during her time in Urû'baen, in a way, similar to the way he had in Ellesméra, and he could see few ways in which he would have behaved differently in the same situation.

"Though I would not willingly ask to have the same events occur, I do not regret my time in Urû'baen." His eyebrows shot up, surprised to hear her say as much. "I learned a great deal about myself, and my lineage. I know much about Murtagh, and Galbatorix, and Kieran. I know my mother's name." A sad smile touched her lips as tears dripped down her face. "And I am happy to be named after her, even if Galbatorix was the one who gave me the title."

Eragon nodded slowly in understanding. "I am named after the first Dragon Rider, and am proud to bear his name. I understand, in a way, how you must feel."

Mariah started off slowly, contemplating as she spoke. "I never asked for any of this to happen. My life was going to be normal, and boring. I was going to daydream about battles, Dragon Riders, elves, and dwarves. I was going to live in Carvahall my whole life, close by my brother and you, and that was going to be all. When this started happening, I greeting it with enthusiasm… but I realized while stuck in that castle that I would give it all away. I would have given anything to tell you, because," she paused, taking a ragged breath, before her words continued, rolling from her tongue, "because I didn't know if I ever would – that nothing is worth losing you. I didn't know if you were alive, or safe, or crippled. You could have died after I was captured, or been unable to defend yourself, never made it to Ellesméra. I only dreamed that you had, that you were safe, that you had healed. That is what kept me alive through all the torture, and kept me defiant. I needed to know you were still alive. I stopped caring _how_ I got to you, and just focused on getting to you. I'm sorry you don't trust me, Eragon, but believe me when I tell you everything I did was just so I could have the _chance_ to see you again."

His lips parted and he licked them quickly, his response almost aggressive, "And the moment you do, you bind your life to me? Give me permission to murder you without a second thought?"

"It was the only way I could think of to make sure Galbatorix didn't try to have me murder you. I refused to be his pawn any longer." She sat there, her hands had fisted into her tunic, tears leaking down onto her hands. "I _trust_ you. Mark, I know, would give anything for me, spill blood to get me back, has before."

"You don't realize how similar we are then," he growled back. "You know how I am about my family."

She stood then, throwing out her hand; in turn he rose to his feet, alert and matching her gaze. "Mark and I are _not_ your family, Eragon. Roran is your family, Garrow and Marian. Saphira! Mark and I are traitors. We are selfish, and cunning, and deceitful. He did whatever he had to in order to stand beside Nasuada. He became the companion of Galbatorix's daughter herself. I did the same, to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with the princess and lead his army. I convinced him that I was going to destroy the Varden. I killed Hrothgar! I'm glad you don't trust me – you shouldn't trust me, and I don't want you to. My parents were both members of the Forsworn, and my grandfather spent the last years of his life trying to repent for it. He failed: look at the my brother and I!"

"Mariah," he said calmly, vaguely conscious of the fact that this was the first time he'd said her name since their argument. "You are not a traitor for being selfish, or cunning. I would have done the same in your position."

"But I am a traitor!" She shook her head. "You would have never allowed yourself to be twisted so, you are far stronger than I am."

"Only because of you," he insisted. "Mariah, I endured torture, not as you did with Galbatorix, but at the thought of having lost you. It took me weeks before I could suppress my rage, there were many nights I didn't sleep, because I couldn't get past the thoughts of your death."

"Sleep was the only respite I had from the suffering; it was the only time I got to see you. Memories, conversations, we've had and never would. Sunsets overlooking the ridge in the Spine, you said you would tell me about Ellesméra, and showed me fire lilies, and your back was healed. I was never going to see you again, the least I could do was keep imagining something better!"

He went ridged at her words. Wetting his lips, he fought not to let his mouth twist into a smile. "Irises."

"What?" She asked him, her face streaked with tears.

"…irises… they were... irises not lilies." Eragon spoke. Then, realizing she still hadn't figured it out, hurriedly added, "Irises are your favorite."

She stared across the fire at him, confused, her breath coming out heavily. The flames cracked and sprayed embers into the air. For the first time since the bruise had formed on her arm, she felt like maybe there was a chance that he didn't want to hate her after all. He remembered that she favored irises to lilies and roses, not even Mark knew that.

Eragon had pieced it together - he'd been in contact with her the past few months through his waking dreams. The dreams that had been part of her sanity and his; the hair at the back of his neck stood on end and his palms felt slick with sweat. She hadn't seemed like the same person before now. Her distress and recent history had crushed his heart, and didn't know if he could get beyond it. Even now, he was finding it difficult to look past, but he knew it hadn't been her fault. She was still Mariah, despite now being called Dawnsinger. He suddenly sympathized with when she had been so hesitant to call him Shadeslayer before, and why she had insisted upon calling him thusly after their reunion. He recalled the night before their departure with Roran. She had told him in his dream she would only call him Shadeslayer when she was upset with him, that had been a dream. But it hadn't. His mind rushed to recall the other memories he could evoke of dreams with her in them. He had walked with her in the Spine, watched the sunset with her, danced with her in his arms, and made fiery red-orange irises spring forth from the ground.

Eragon dropped into a kneeling position, pressing his hands against the dirt. He swallowed hard and started singing quietly, after the fashion of the elves, smooth and flowing, repeating the phrasing until a green leaf sprouted forth. As he stood, pulling a stem back up from the dirt and snapping it toward the base, taking a few short steps toward her. The bud blossomed as he held out his hand, the stalk held gingerly between his thumb and fingers, and a fiery red-orange iris spilled from the greenery.

Mariah stared at the flower in his hand and then into his face. Leaning toward him, she took the flower carefully. He watched her twist the iris in between her fingers as emotion flooded over him. Her face turned bright red.

Speaking softly, Eragon brushed his thumb over her lips, healing a split there, dry from traveling. The tips of his fingers brushed away the tears on her left cheek. Then, he wrapped his hands around her arms, bringing himself close to her. His touch drew the breath from her lungs, forcing a smile to her blushing face. Taking her wrists, he muttered under his breath, healing the bruises he had forced upon her days prior.

"I'm sorry, for my behavior toward you lately," he said slowly.

Shaking her head, she closed her eyes, "I understand. I know you can't trust me right now. I want you to, but until I know for sure my mind is my own, I accept it."

"I never wanted to lose your friendship, but I fear my words were enough to destroy it completely."

Mariah stood in front of him, scanning his pained expression. She wanted more from him in this moment, and more of herself. Much was different from the last time they had been so close to one another, they had both changed and grew apart. They had spent their entire lives growing together, through the same experiences and struggles. She was there for him when Garrow died, and in turn he comforted her in the wake of Brom's death. They had saved one another more times than she cared to count. Together they became the first Dragon Riders in a hundred years. Even through their time separated from each other, she had relied on him to get her through it all. No, there was nothing that could destroy the bond they shared. "Nothing you could ever say to me could do such a thing. Think nothing more of it."

He smiled slightly at her then and nodded, lowering her wrists carefully. They observed one another for a moment before a calm enveloped them. Acceptance for the other, and determination to restore their bond to what it once had been. Sitting back down by the fire, Mariah folded her legs and hesitantly began asking trivial questions, relieving them of worldly concerns, and to try and reacquaint their souls with one another.

* * *

With Love, As Always,

Mariah Dawnsinger


	12. Ch 92: Return

**Chapter Ninety-Two: Return**

It was mid afternoon when they Varden finally came into sight.

Eragon and Mariah stopped on the crest of a low hill and studied the sprawling city of gray tents that lay before them, teeming as it was with thousands of men, horses, and smoking cookfires. To the west of the tents, there wound the tree-lined Jiet River. Half a mile to the east was a second, smaller camp – like an island floating close off the shore of its mother continent – where the Urgals led by Nar Garzhvog resided. Ranging for several miles around the perimeter of the Varden were numerous groups of horsemen. Some were riding patrol, others were banner-carrying messengers, and others were raiding parties either setting out on or returning from a mission. Two of the patrols spotted Eragon and Mariah and, after sounding signal horns, galloped toward them with all possible speed.

Letting out a relieved sigh, she watched Eragon laugh in relief, exclaiming, "We made it! Past hundreds of soldiers, and all Galbatorix's Riders, we made it. We defeated the Ra'zac! None of them could catch us. Ha! How's that for taunting the king?"

Mariah shook her head, smiling at his enthusiasm. "Let's just downplay the dangerous parts for Mark, alright?"

"He should know," he insisted. "If not for you I don't know if I could have made it back alive."

"I have faith that you would have found a way, you're wiser than you realize." She started as he set his hands on her shoulders.

Sincerity flowed out of his voice. "I could not have done it without you, Mariah." Then he pulled away again, turning and inhaling deeply, closing his eyes tight, bouncing on the tips of his toes.

In a moment she felt a sharp knock on her mental defenses and a spark of red in her mind. _Andrar?_

Overwhelming joy and love permeated her every being, followed by a wave of concern from Andrar as he launched into the air, rushing to her. Mariah chuckled at the surprise emitting from those around him as he so suddenly left camp. Fury boiled in the dragon's veins as he beat his wings through the air.

 _When Saphira explained why she had returned without you I had half a mind to come searching for you myself! Jumping thousands of feet above ground, fighting Ra'zac without armor! Your reckless behavior is quickly becoming a habit which I must protest against! Your brother will hear about this, and he shall agree with me. Murtagh too. Even Thorn would have to admit your decisions were rash and-_

 _Andrar, I am alive and returned to you, can we not be thankful for that?_

 _Of course! Of course I am thankful that you are alive and in one piece. That Eragon decided not to kill you, and that Galbatorix did not attempt to retake your mind while I was absent._ He prattled on, scolding her for everything that had happened during her journey. With every word, her smile broadened, their connection deepening until she began berating herself for such foolish actions. She felt him dropping and opened her eyes, looking upward as he twisted down beside Saphira.

The blue dragoness opened her fearsome jaws, releasing a billow of fire, which streamed back over her head and neck like a burning mane. Beside her, Andrar discharged a thunderous roar, which clapped against the landscape for miles. Unannounced, their return wasn't. The horses of the patrol galloping toward them shied at the sight and sound of the dragons and bolted in the opposite direction while their riders frantically tried to rein them in.

In a blur, the two of them landed on the ridge beside their Riders. Saphira's massive thighs and shoulders rippled as she absorbed the force of the impact. Andrar landed more gracefully, fluttering once and lowering himself first onto his hind legs, then forepaws, nuzzling at Mariah the moment she was within reach.

Eragon ran toward her. Light as a feather, he leaped from her left foreleg to her shoulder and thence to the hollow at the base of her neck that was his usual seat. Settling into place, he put his hands on either side of her warm neck, feeling the rise and fall of her banded muscles as she breathed.

Reaching up, Mariah grasped hold of the spikes jutting from Andrar's skull before he lifted his head up and dropped her onto his back. There was a strange moment where she met Eragon's gaze and smiled gently. This was where they belonged.

Saphira turned her head toward Mariah. _Thank you little one, for helping Eragon to return without harm._

 _You would have done the same for me,_ she insisted, smiling. _You do not have to thank me for keeping your Rider safe._ Humming deep in her chest, she seemed satisfied with Mariah's response, flicking her tail at Andrar before turning and clawing her way down the ridge toward the horses with him in her wake. As they leveled onto the plains, a patrol galloped toward them and, halting thirty yards away because of their nervous horses, asked if they might escort them to Nasuada.

The dragons set a leisurely crawl that allowed them to spend some time in their companion's company before immersing themselves in the noise and chaos that were sure to assault them once they neared the camp.

 _Mark?_

 _He is fine, and will be glad you see you alive and well._ Andrar went quiet for a moment, _Much has happened while you've been away. I hope for the better._

Curious as to what he meant, she allowed him to change the topic to comparing what he already knew of her adventure from Saphira and then her own experience again. She could feel the sorrow that he had not been there to go through it all with her.

As they entered the rambunctious campsite, she felt Eragon and Saphira's mental touch vanish, forcing her gaze toward them. Questioning why, she pushed out her thoughts, catching what he was guarding against. _Elves?_ Mariah asked, sensing the presence of twelve, running in formation from the other side of the camp. _Twelve of them?_

Andrar hummed, _Yes, Eragon's guard sent by the queen of the elves it seems. She wants to make sure he is safe._

She let out a quiet laugh; _I don't need twelve elves guarding my back. I know how to take care of myself._

 _Do not be so quick to judge, they are quite something once you meet them. Besides, you should be glad that he has so many guarding him and Saphira. They approached me and proclaimed that though they had no order to do so, they would gladly protect me if I so wished it, as they believe their queen would want._

The twelve elves halted before Saphira. They bowed and twisted their hands and, one by one, introduced themselves to Eragon with the initial phrase of the elves' traditional greeting, to which he replied with the appropriate lines. Then the lead elf, a tall, handsome male with glossy blue-black fur covering his entire body, proclaimed the purpose of their mission to everyone within earshot and formally asked Eragon and Saphira if the twelve might assume their duties.

"You may," said Eragon.

Then Eragon asked, "Blödhgarm-vodhr, did I perchance see you at the Agaetí Blödhren?"

Blödhgarm smiled, exposing the fangs of an animal. "I believe you met my cousin Liotha. We share a most striking family resemblance, although her fur is brown and flecked, whereas mine is dark blue."

"I would have sworn it was you."

"Unfortunately, I was otherwise engaged at the time and was unable to attend the celebration. Perhaps I shall have the opportunity when next the occasion occurs, a hundred years from now."

 _He seems quite pleasant indeed,_ Mariah said, leaning in slightly when he talked. _I mean his scent is quite delightful._

 _Be careful my darling, he already has convinced all the women in the Varden to fall quite desperately in love with him. You would do well to guard yourself against his enchantments._

She caught Eragon staring at her, as though waiting for her to do something irrational. In turn, Mariah gave him a smile, shaking her head. _I am partial to the smell of blueberries, not juniper…_ she reassured Eragon, laughing quietly at his confused expression.

Blödhgarm turned towards Mariah, staring at her through his avian yellow eyes. He spoke to her first. "Atra esterní ono thelduin."

She blinked in surprised then held his gaze. "Mor'ranr lífa unin hjarta onr."

"Un du evarínya ono varda." He bowed to her at the waist and said, "Lady Dawnsinger, Brisingrskular, we were relieved to learn that you had been recovered after your capture by Galbatorix, and that you yet lived." Blödhgarm returned to a standing position. "Know that we are blessed to have you with us, and will do what we can to assist you, however our queen has only sanctioned our protection of Lord Shadeslayer."

"Of course, please take care of Eragon and Saphira." She smiled at him gently, then turned as Andrar's attention shifted elsewhere. Her smile broadened, watching Mark approaching them rapidly atop Aluora. He cleared the gap between them and the campsite in a few short moments.

"Mariah!" He let out an exasperated sigh, looking up at her. "I am glad to see you safe."

She shook her head. "You always worry too much, brother."

"I worry just the right amount," Mark argued, unable to contain his grin. "Now, let's see you both to Nasuada, there is much to discuss." He whirled Aluora around as she reared onto her hind legs and trotted ahead of them.

When they arrived at the tents, the crowd swelled in size until half the Varden appeared to be gathered around Saphira and Andrar. As they had when they entered Farthen Dûr, Saphira led their procession, with the red-orange dragon trailing behind her. Eragon raised his hand in response as people shouted, "Argetlam!" and "Shadeslayer!" and he heard others say, "Where have you been, Shadeslayer? Tell us of your adventures!" A fair number referred to them as the Bane of the Ra'zac, after which Mariah heard Eragon whisper the phrase to himself under his breath no less than four times.

Having expected no fanfare for herself, Mariah was startled to hear her name called aloud, "Lady Mariah!" She raised her head and looked around rapidly, seeing a young man waving toward her rapidly. He cupped his hands around his mouth to shout over the crowd, "My sister, Catharine, she sends you her well-wishes!"

 _Catharine?_ She blinked, trying to recall the name.

 _In Farthen Dûr, you remember, the child who brought you the dress._ Mark said, glancing back at her, a snicker playing in his voice. Mariah sat up straighter, beaming and waving at the boy, nodding that she had heard him. With a broad grin he dropped back onto his heels, vanishing back into the crowd.

People also shouted blessing upon their health, and invitations to dine, and offers of gold and jewelry, and piteous requests for aid: would she please heal a son who had been born blind, or would he remove a growth that was killing a man's wife, or would she fix a horse's broken leg or repair a bent sword, for as the man bellowed, "It was my grandfather's!"

"Shadeslayer, will you marry me?" The offer came twice from the crowd. At that, Mariah's head whipped around, trying to identify the woman's voice. Then, she noticed the reddening of his pointed ears. She raised an eyebrow at him and saw Saphira's nostrils emit smoke.

Then, though she should have been expecting it, heard her name called again, followed by its own marriage proposal. "Dawnsinger, m'lady, marry me!" She raised herself on Andrar's back so she was barely seated, eyes dragging through the crowd quickly. There were far more men than women however, and she was forced to return to her seat in defeat, her face flushed crimson.

Then, from between curving rows of woolen tents, the former villagers of Carvahall began to appear. Eragon dismounted upon seeing them, greeting them all warmly. He paused and turned back to Mariah, who seemed hesitant until he extended his hand up to her, helping her to the ground. Then he turned, walking among the friends and acquaintances of his childhood, shaking hands, slapping shoulders, and laughing at jokes that would be incomprehensible to anyone who had not grown up around Carvahall. Guilt still ebbed at her stomach, and weighed heavily on her. Their presence here was her fault, in part.

A tug at her hand force her to look down, one of the children from Carvahall was there, staring up at her with wide-eyes. "Mariah?" She blinked down and crouched beside Nanda, Lenna's daughter, who whispered quietly to her, "Mama said you were friends with the king. Does that mean you are one of the bad soldiers?"

She swallowed hard as dismay solidify in her gut. "Sometimes good people do bad things for the right reasons…"

"So you aren't?" Nanda asked her, putting her hands on her hips, determined to get her straight answer.

A nervous smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, the innocence in Nanda's bright blue eyes was almost haunting as she asked her questions, genuinely curious of Mariah's answer.

"Sometimes, people say things before they know the whole truth. And sometimes people assume wrong about a person, because they don't understand why a person would do something." Lenna said, picking Nanda up and setting her on her hip. Rising to her feet, Mariah refused to meet her gaze, ashamed. Lenna reached over and tipped her chin up, shaking her head. "Mariah is not a bad person Nanda, bad things happen to everyone."

Mariah smiled gently at Lenna, and Tara, and all the other women who started surrounding her, touching the jagged edges of her hair which was "far shorter than they remembered" despite it having nearly all grown back in the past few months and insisted that she had "grown like a sunflower" which, in Carvahall at least, meant she was far too tall and skinny.

"You wear a sword like a soldier, I always knew you and your brother were odd, but I never thought for the life of me you would be fighting in a war like this!" Calitha said, shaking her head and motioning toward Ancalë. "A battlefield is no place for a woman!"

Horst was there, and Eragon grasped the smith's brawny forearm. "Welcome back, Eragon. Well done. We're in your debt for avenging us on the monsters that drove us from our homes. I'm glad to see you are still in one piece, eh?"

Mariah caught the exchange and glanced over, watching her friend's face as he said, "The Ra'zac would have had to move a sight faster to chop any parts off of me!"

Then Birgit said, fierce-eyed as always, "I thank you, Eragon Son of None, and Mariah, Granddaughter of Brom. I thank you for ensuring that the creatures who ate my husband were properly punished. My hearth is yours, now and forever."

Her lips parted as Birgit hugged her tightly, brushing back Mariah's hair gently, kissing her forehead. "You have grown into a fearless young woman, Mariah. Who would have thought?"

Then, Roran was shouldering his way out of the throng, Katrina beside him. Eragon and Roran embraced, and Roran growled at him, "That was a fool thing to do, staying behind. I ought to knock your block off for abandoning us like that. Next time, give me advance warning before you traipse off on your own. It's getting to be a habit with you. And you should have seen how upset Saphira was on the flight back." He glanced over his cousin's shoulder at Mariah, "And you! You knew his plan before it was done, and yet you said nothing. You knew it was foolish of him."

"You and I have both known him since he could talk, has he ever _not_ done something foolish once he's set his mind to it?" Mariah asked, folding her arms, smirking a little at Roran. The ladies behind her laughed at Eragon's expense as Roran looked between Mariah and Eragon questioningly.

Eragon thought for a moment he was going to ask something he didn't want to answer quite yet. "Why was it exactly you remained in those foul caverns?"

"There was something I had to investigate," Eragon said, relieved.

When he failed to expand up his answer, Roran's broad face hardened, and for a moment Eragon feared he would insist upon a more satisfactory explanation. But then, Roran said, "Well, what hope has an ordinary man like myself of understand the why and wherefores of a Dragon Rider, even if he is my cousin? All that matters is that you helped free Katrina and you are here now, safe and sound."

Katrina hesitated for a moment, then hugged Eragon. "He really is very glad to see you, you know. He just has difficulty finding the words to say it."

With a sheepish grin, Roran shrugged. "She's right about me, as always." The two of them exchanged a loving glance.

Then, Katrina turned to Mariah, embracing her tightly. "Thank you," she said quietly. "For rescuing me…"

"I would have tried to help you sooner had I known you were being held captive," she said, smiling at the woman. Her copper hair had regained its original luster, and for the most part, the marks left by her ordeal had faded away, although she was still thinner and paler than normal. "Let me know if I can do anything for you, I have missed you."

Katrina nodded, stepping back towards Roran, pulling Mariah with her so that the four of them were so close that the other members of the Varden clustered around them would not overhead. "I never thought that I would owe you so much, Eragon, Mariah. That _we_ would owe you so much. Since Saphira brought us here, I have learned what you risked to rescue me, and I am most grateful. If I had spent another week in Helgrind, it would have killed me or stripped me of reason, which is a living death. For saving me from that fate, and for repairing Roran's shoulder, you have my utmost thanks, but more than that, you have my thanks for bringing the two of us back together again. If not for you, we never would have been reunited."

Eragon chuckled, "Somehow I think Roran would have found a way to extricate you from Helgrind, even without me. He has a silver tongue when roused. He would have convinced another spellcaster to help him – Angela the herbalist, perhaps – and he would have succeeded all the same."

"Mark would have helped save you in a moment. Roran never had to worry, his resolve is unlike most," Mariah said.

"Mark, sure, but Angela, the herbalist?" scoffed Roran. "That prating girl would have been no match for the Ra'zac."

"You would be surprised." Eragon said, "She's more than she appears… or sounds." Then he kissed Katrina upon her brow, and then Roran upon his, and said, "Roran, you are as a brother to me. And, Katrina, you are as a sister to me. If ever you are in trouble, send for me, and whether you need Eragon the farmer or Eragon the Rider, everything I am shall be at your disposal."

"And likewise," said Roran, "if ever you are in trouble, you have but to send for us, and we shall rush to your aid."

Eragon gripped the two of them by the shoulders and said, "May you live long, may you always be together and happy, and may you have many children." At this, Katrina's smile faltered for a moment, but the dragons were urging them to move on toward Nasuada. Mariah only had a moment to touch Katrina's hand once more, holding her gaze, before walking off with Eragon again.

They resumed walking towards Nasuada's red pavilion in the center of the encampment. In due time, they and the host of cheering Varden arrived at its threshold, where Nasuada stood waiting, King Orrin to her left and scores of nobles and other notables gathered behind a double row of guards on either side.

Nasuada was garbed in a green silk dress that shimmered in the sun, like the feathers on the breast of a hummingbird, in bright contrast to the sable shade of her skin. The sleeves of the dress ended in lace ruffs at her elbows. White linen bandages covered the rest of her arms to her narrow wrists. Of all the men and women assembled before her, she was the most distinguished, like an emerald resting on a bed of brown autumn leaves. Only the dragons could compete with the brilliance of her appearance.

Eragon presented himself first to Nasuada, then to King Orrin. Then, Mariah stepped forward, observing Nasuada for a long moment in silence. "I have returned your Rider, as I promised I would."

A smile played on her lips, "Yes, you have returned him to the Varden safely, as promised. We shall discuss your position in due time, but for now," she paused, looking toward Eragon. "I thank you both on behalf of the Varden, and welcome you home. Your deeds have already been spread throughout the resistance, as you have no doubt heard. Your victory against the Ra'zac and your rescue of Katrina will be sung about for years to come. Aye, Galbatorix may have Riders and dragons who fight for him, but we have Eragon Shadeslayer and Saphira. And Mariah Dawnsinger and Andrar. Who fights for Galbatorix? Those who have no name, and no victories to tie to them. He may have an army so large that it darkens the land. And he may be adept at strange and terrible magics, abominations of the spellcaster's art. But for all his wicked power, he could not stop you from invading his realm and killing four of his most favored servants, nor you Eragon and Mariah from crossing the Empire with impunity. The pretender's arm has grown weak indeed when he cannot defend his borders, nor protect his foul agents within their hidden fortress."

When the Varden's outpouring of excitement had subsided, King Orrin greeted Eragon as Nasuada had, then turned to Mariah. She instantly knew she didn't like him, greeting him stiffly and listening as he started on a pretty speech. While the crowd listened politely and applauded afterward, it was obvious that however much the people respected Orrin, they did not love him as they loved Nasuada. The smooth-faced king was gifted with a superior intellect, one perhaps nearly rivaling her brother's. But his personality was too rarefied, too eccentric, and too subdued for him to be a receptacle for the desperate hopes of the humans that opposed Galbatorix.

At length King Orrin concluded. Nasuada whispered to Eragon, "Now it is your turn to address those who have assembled to catch a glimpse of their renowned Dragon Rider." Her eyes twinkled with suppressed merriment.

"Me!"

"It is expected."

Mariah caught his gaze, _Do try to be articulate, Eragon._

Her smile eased his nerves slightly as he turned and faced the multitude, his tongue dry as sand. His mind was blank, and for a handful of panic-stricken seconds, he thought the use of language would continue to elude him and he would embarrass himself in front of the entire Varden.

 _I didn't want to do this,_ Mariah's thoughts retreated and were suddenly replaced by Mark's voice in his head.

 _Repeat everything I say,_ he insisted, standing a few feet behind his sister. _I am honored-_

"I am honored by your overwhelming support, as is Saphira. We are speechless at the greeting we received upon our return and are happy to once again be among you. Members – nay – Heroes of the Varden! You have triumphed over the Galbatorix's army, against overwhelming odds. Together we shall prevail against the Empire!"

 _I think that's about enough from you, let's not overdo it…_ Mark said, folding his arms as he watched Eragon retreat to stand beside his sister. The Varden clapped and cheered and beat their swords against their shields.

* * *

With Love, As Always,

Mariah Dawnsinger


	13. Ch 93: King and Queen

**Chapter Ninety-Three: King and Queen**

After Eragon gave his address to the Varden, Nasuada gestured towards Jörmundur and Mark. "Have everyone here return to their posts. If we were attacked now, we would be overwhelmed."

"Yes, my Lady." Jörmundur rushed off quickly. Nodding, Mark strode off with a glance toward his sister, shouting orders at the top of his lungs.

Beckoning to Eragon, Nasuada placed her left hand on King Orrin's arm and, with him, entered the pavilion. Mariah looked at him and shook her head, "I am not her vassal, Eragon."

He turned to look at her, his expression pained. "You should still be a part of the conversations, don't you think?" Holding his hand out to her slightly, he frowned as she took as step back away from him, and away from the pavilion.

"Just tell me later," she said, "You should go, before you're missed."

As she spoke, Mark came up behind her, grasping her upper arm. "Oh no you don't. You aren't getting out of this. We're in it together now - the lot of us."

She huffed as he marched her into the tent with him, feeling scrutinized the second she entered the Nasuada's pavilion. The dragons twisted around the back side of the structure where a panel had been rolled up and tied to the wood frame so that they may participate as well. Purple flecks of light adorned the walls, projected by their scales onto the red fabric.

With only four pieces of furniture, the tent was austere even by military standards. There was the polished high backed chair where Nasuada was sitting, King Orrin standing next to her; a folding chair; and a low table strewn with maps and other documents of import. An intricately knotted dwarf rug covered the ground. Besides the three of them, a score of people were already gathered before Nasuada. They were all looking at Eragon and Mariah. Among them was Narheim, the current commander of the dwarf troops; Trianna and other spellcasters from Du Vrangr Gata; Sabrae, Umerth, and the rest of the Council of Elders, save for Jörmundur; and a random assortment of nobles and functionaries from King Orrin's court. Six guards stood in the room, two at the entrance, four at the rear, all guarding Nasuada. Her Nighthawks. Nearly all of them were strangers to Mariah, and she was uncomfortable with them all staring at her. Finally, she sensed a presence she hadn't before now, convoluted patterns of dark and twisted thoughts, forcing her to tense for an attack.

"Eragon," said Nasuada, "Mariah, you have not met before, but let me introduce Sagabato-no Inapashunna Fadawar, chief of the Inapashunna tribe. He is a brave man."

For the next hour, they endured what seemed like an endless procession for introductions, congratulations, and questions that could not be answered forthrightly without revealing secrets and information better left unsaid. When all of the guests had conversed with them, Nasuada bade them take their leave. Relief flooded over Mariah at their parting, but Mark shook his head.

"Not done yet."

Nasuada clapped her hands and the guards outside ushered in a second group, and then, when the second group had enjoyed the dubious fruits of their visitation with them, a third. Eragon smiled the whole time. Mariah quickly grew more and more irritable. Had she been in Urû'baen, she would have been able to dismiss them at her leisure. Galbatorix certainly wouldn't have wasted his time with pleasantries such as these, as trite as he sometimes enjoyed being.

Beside her, Eragon shook hand after hand. Finally accepting this was what life was going to be like for the next short while, she succumbed and put on a smile to rival his, making it a silent challenge against him. They exchanged meaningless pleasantries and strove to memorize the plethora of names and titles, which Mark had already banked in his own mind for them to use later.

 _Is this ever going to end?_ Mariah asked them.

 _We are the embodiment of victory for the people of Alagaësia. They hope to gain freedom through us; the least we can do is pretend to accept their honor toward us._

 _In Urû'baen, I fought six soldiers at once until they were all on their knees, begging me for mercy. I don't know if I can exchange pleasantries for much longer like this, Eragon._

 _Try, please, I have had to endure this much more often than you now, it seems. Just pretend for a while longer._ At his pleading, Mariah pushed down her revulsion and continued listening to their prattling on.

A young lord entered the pavilion beside his father, eyes widening at the sight of the Urgals before he turned his gaze upon the Riders. His father shook Eragon's hand first, then Mariah's. "Oh, you are stunning, Lady. Pray, tell me, have you been spoken for? My son has not yet married-"

"I am afraid, my lord, I would be an ill match for your son."

Seemingly astonished at her abrupt refusal, the man gawked at her. "And might I ask why you believe that would be so? I have met very few women whose beauty would hold a candle to you."

"It is not that I believe I am lacking for your son, sir. Quite the opposite." She smiled charmingly at him, "I spend far too much time in the company of Urgals for his liking." The lord glanced back at his son, who was pale at the sight of the horned creatures. Beside her, Eragon stifled a laugh so well she barely caught the tremor in his body as he held his chuckle in.

Mark set his hand on his sister's shoulder, "I am afraid, m'lord, my sister is quite right. A Rider has a very difficult path in life, and few are able to conduct themselves in a manner befitting the spouse of a Dragon Rider. Besides, my sister is not yet sixteen."

"Her age is of no import," the lord brushed the notion aside. "My son is just twenty and four this year."

"Then I'm afraid there is another factor far more important to my refusal," Mariah said. "I couldn't possibly marry someone so much older than myself." Understanding he was being mocked, he turned on his heel and paraded his son back out of the pavilion.

Realizing she could bear no more, Andrar nudged Saphira, exchanging glances with her. She emitted a low, humming growl, so deep it shook the room. The pavilion became as silent as a tomb. Her growl was not overtly threatening, but it captured everyone's attention and proclaimed her impatience with the proceedings. None of the guests were foolish enough to test her forbearance. With hurried excuses, they gathered their things and filed out of the pavilion, quickening their pace when Andrar's teeth exposed themselves in a yawn.

Nasuada sighed as the entrance flap swung closed behind the last visitor. She motioned to Mark, who nodded. In turn, she clapped her hands and the Nighthawks filed from the inside of the tent. "Thank you, Saphira. I am sorry that I had to subject you to the misery of public presentation, Eragon, but as I am sure you are aware, you occupy an exalted position among the Varden, and I cannot keep you to myself anymore. You belong to the people now. They demand that you recognize them and that you give them what they consider their rightful share of your time. Neither you nor Orrin nor I can refuse the wishes of the crowd. Even Galbatorix in his dark seat of power at Urû'baen fears the fickle crowd, although he may deny it to everyone, including himself."

"Galbatorix is quite eloquent when he wants to be." Mariah muttered, observing Nasuada. "And I fail to see how Eragon _belongs_ to the people. A Rider is free to make his own decisions."

"While true, you cannot deny the Varden their wishes, Mariah. If you do, they will distrust Eragon and Saphira, and that hope will be lost. And hope like that cannot be replaced."

With the guests departed, King Orrin abandoned the guise of royal decorum. His stern expression relaxed into one of more human relief, irritation, and ferocious curiosity. Dragging the spare chair over to Nasuada's, King Orrin seated himself in a tangle of sprawling limbs and billowing fabric. "Now," he said, switching his gaze between Eragon and Mariah, "let us have a full account of your doings, Eragon Shadeslayer. I have heard only vague explanations for why you chose to delay at Helgrind, and I have had my fill of evasions and deceptive answers. I am determined to know the truth of the matter, so I warn you, do not attempt to conceal what actually transpired while you were in the Empire. Until I am satisfied you have told me everything there is to tell, none of us shall so much as step outside of this tent."

Mariah blinked. Was this truly the king of Surda? She had never met him before now, and his words seemed backed only by his position. It was unlikely he could fight well, and could not cast magic from what she could observe of him. She lifted her voice so she could be heard and spoke with all the authority of an army general. "I'm afraid we have not had time to be properly introduced."

Raising an eyebrow the king watched her move toward him, tensing slightly.

"Where I am from, it is customary to stand and greet someone when you first meet them. I am Mariah Dawnsinger, Dragon Rider of Alagaësia." When he made no movement, she continued, "Orrin, King of Surda... pray tell me, how do you expect to contain me and my companions inside this fabric box?" Her voice was calm, waiting for his response.

Nasuada interrupted, drawing his attention before he could lash out at her. "The Rider is correct, you assume much," Nasuada said, her voice cold, "Your Majesty. You do not have the authority to bind me in place; nor Eragon, who is my vassal; nor Saphira or Andrar; nor Mark, who has sworn loyalty to me. Nor do we have the authority to bind you. We are as close to equals as any of us is likely to find in Alagaësia. You would do well to remember that."

"Do I exceed the bounds of my sovereignty? Well, perhaps I do. You are right: I have no hold over you. However, if we are equals, I have yet to see evidence of it in your treatment of me. Eragon answers to you and only you, and in turn Dawnsinger it seems. And her brother is as your dog. By the Trial of the Long Knives, you have gained dominion over the wandering tribes, many of which I have long counted among my subjects. And you command as you will both the Varden and the men of Surda, who have long served my family with bravery and determination beyond that of ordinary men."

"It was you yourself who asked me to orchestrate this campaign," said Nasuada. "I have not deposed you."

"Aye, it was my request you assumed command of our disparate forces. I am not ashamed to admit you have had more experience and success than I in waging war. Our prospects are too precarious for you, me, or any of us to indulge in false pride. However, since your investiture, you seem to have forgotten that I am still the king of Surda, and we of the Langfeld family can trace our line back to Thanebrand the Ring Giver himself, who succeeded old, mad Palancar and who was the first of our race to sit on the throne in what is now Urû'baen.

"Considering our heritage and the assistance the House of Langfeld has rendered you in this cause, it is insulting of you to ignore the rights of my office. You act as if yours was the only verdict of moment and the opinions of others are of no account, to be trampled over in pursuit of whatever goal you have already determined is best for the portion of free humanity that is fortunate enough to have you as their leader. You negotiate treaties and alliances, such as that with the Urgals, of your own initiative and expect me, and others, to abide by your decisions, as if you speak for us all. You arranged preemptive visits of state, such as that with Blödhgarm-vodhr, and do not trouble to alert me of his arrival, nor wait for me to join you so we might greet his embassy together as equals. And when I have the temerity to ask why Eragon – the man whose very existence is the reason I have staked my country in this venture – when I have the temerity to ask _why_ this all-important person has elected to endanger the lives of Surdans and those of every creature who opposes Galbatorix by tarrying in the midst of our enemies, how is it you respond? By treating me as if I were no more than an overzealous, over inquisitive underling whose childish concerns distracted you from more pressing matters. Bah! I will not have it, I tell you. If you cannot bring yourself to respect my station and to accept a fair division of responsibility, as two allies ought to, then it is my opinion that you are unfit to command a coalition such as ours, and I shall set myself against you however I may."

Mariah glanced at Mark, _Is he allowed to talk to her like that? I thought you said Nasuada was in charge of the Varden._

 _Aye, but Orrin is the king of Surda, and Nasuada is not a queen, though she speaks as one. Hold your tongue, she will have a response for him. If it continues I may intervene._

In response to King Orrin's sally, Nasuada clasped her hands in her lap, her bandages startling white against the green of her dress, and in a calm, even voice said, "If I have slighted you, Sire, then it was due to my own hasty carelessness and not to any desire on my part to diminish you or your house. Please forgive my lapses. They shall not happen again; that I promise you. As you have pointed out, I have but recently ascended to this post, and I have yet to master all the accompanying niceties."

Orrin inclined his head in a cool but gracious acceptance of her words.

"As for Eragon, Mariah and their activities in the Empire, I could not have provided you with specific details, for I have had no further intelligence myself. It was not, as I am sure you can appreciate, a situation that I wished to advertise."

"No, of course not."

"Therefore, it seems to me that the swiftest cure for the dispute that afflicts us is to allow them to lay bare the facts of his trip that we may apprehend the full scope of this event and render judgment upon it."

"Of its own, that is not a cure," said King Orrin. "But it is the beginning of a cure, and I will gladly listen."

"Then let us tarry no longer," said Nasuada. "Let us begin this beginning and have done with our suspense. Eragon, it is time for your tale."

Mariah looked over at him, harried; she had not wanted to tell Nasuada or _King_ Orrin of their exploits. She wanted to be done with this and rest from their journey, and find Murtagh and speak with him and to see Kieran.

Catching her gaze, Mark invaded her mind. _I know you don't want to, but appeasing Orrin right now is best for everyone. Nasuada and Eragon both need him to feel as though he isn't being slighted, or we risk losing his troops. Surely you can understand that considering you were the one who started this._

His words implied much, and she growled slightly at him. _I wish to be bound by no one, and least of all another king!_

 _You were quick to submit yourself to Eragon's whims. Amuse him then. Put on a pretty smile and tell him about your glorious adventure through the Empire._ She turned her head to look at Eragon, who was in the middle of asking Nasuada and Orrin to keep the story he was about to tell in confidence. _Eragon will tell his liegelord the tale with or without your assistance. I'm sure he would appreciate it greatly if you were to stay and help retell it._

Without further ado, Eragon described everything that had happened in Helgrind and in the days that had followed. Where he lapsed, Mariah filled in the gaps. When they had both said their fill, the pavilion was quiet as Orrin and Nasuada said motionless upon their chairs. Mariah felt as if she were a child again, waiting for Brom to tell her what her punishment would be for doing something foolish.

Orrin and Nasuada remained lost deep in reflection for several minutes, then Nasuada smoothed the front of her dress and said, "King Orrin may be of a different opinion, and if so, I look forward to hearing his reasons, but for my part, I believe that you did the right thing, Eragon."

"As do I," said Orrin, surprising them all.

"You do!" exclaimed Eragon. He hesitated. "I don't mean to sound impertinent, for I'm glad you approve, but I didn't expect you to look kindly upon my decision to spare Sloan's life. If I may ask, why-"

King Orrin interrupted. "Why do we approve? The rule of law must be upheld. If you had appointed yourself Sloan's executioner, Eragon, you would have taken for yourself the power that Nasuada and I wield. For he who has the audacity to determine who should live and who should die no longer serves the law but dictates the law. And however benevolent you might be, that would be no good thing for our species. Nasuada and I, at least, answer to the one lord even kings must kneel before. We answer to Angvard, in his realm of eternal twilight. We answer to the Gray Man on his gray horse. Death. We could be the worst tyrants in the whole of history, and given enough time, Angvard would bring us to heel… But not you. Humans are a short-lived race, and we should not be governed by one of the Undying. We do not need another Galbatorix." Chills ran up her spine as a strange laugh escaped from Orrin then, and his mouth twisted in a humorless smile. "Do you understand, Eragon? You are so dangerous, we are forced to acknowledge the danger to your face and hope that you are one of the few people able to resist the lure of power." His gaze turned to Mariah. "As for you Dawnsinger, you know of your abilities, have grasped at power under Galbatorix, which make you far more unpredictable. If it was up to me, you and your companions you arrived with would all be imprisoned or better. Until you can prove your loyalties and resistance to take the power which you could easily acquire for yourself."

King Orrin laced his fingers together underneath his chin and gazed at a fold in his robes. "I have said more than I intended… So, for all those reasons, and others besides, I agree with Nasuada. You were right to stay your hand when you discovered this Sloan in Helgrind. As inconvenient this episode has been, it would have been far worse, and for you as well, if you had killed to please yourself and not in self-defense or in service to others."

Nasuada nodded, "That was well spoken."

At long last, after they pried with more questions about oaths and the remaining details of their trip, Orrin bade them farewell and departed to review the status of his cavalry. The moment of his departure, Mark strode to Nasusada's side, kneeling next to her and unwrapping the bandages around her arms, examining the damage.

Eragon and Mariah gasped. The gashes were covered in a sticky, green pulp that Angela had concocted to help heal the wounds. But moreover, they were raised and red from the irritation to her skin. Mark looked up at her. "Should I send for Angela?"

"In a moment, thank you. I'll live." Nasuada smiled at him a little as he re-wrapped the white cloth carefully. "And before you ask, Eragon, no, I cannot accept magical aid. It is forbidden."

"That's barbaric!"

"Maybe so, but it is what it is." As Saphira yawned, Nasuada straightened. "Ah, I am sorry. I know this has been tedious. You have been very patient. Thank you."

Eragon knelt and placed his right hand over hers. "You do not need to worry about me, Nasuada. I know my duty. I have never aspired to rule; that is not my destiny. And if ever I am offered the chance to sit upon a throne, I shall refuse and see that it goes to someone who is better suited than I to lead our race."

"You are a good person, Eragon," murmured Nasuada, and pressed his hand between hers, glancing at Mariah behind him. Then she chuckled. "What with you, Roran, and Murtagh, I seem to spend most of my time worrying about members of your family as of late."

Eragon started. "Where is Murtagh?"

Nasuada's face hardened. "I am sorry. I didn't want to trouble you."

"What do you mean Nasuada?" Mariah asked, looking between Nasuada and Mark standing just behind her.

"I'm afraid he left to recover Wolfshadow, she went on a mission with her pack and are late to return. I believe he scryed them and took it upon himself to follow. Kieran went with him."

"Wolfshadow?"

"Kendra," Nasuada said.

"And you allowed Kieran and Murtagh to leave without supervision?" Mariah asked, astonished. "I thought you distrusted them?"

A smile played gently on her lips, "Aye. I allowed him to go through camp unescorted, and he caused no trouble. Kieran followed suit shortly after, but insisted upon being with your brother at most times. I do not know the company of a sibling, for I am an only child, but I do envy those of you who have been raised together. Having such a close friend is something I believe I would have enjoyed. They should rejoin us soon, I have no doubts in their abilities. Now, you two must be famished! I shall not torment you any longer. Go and bathe and garb yourself in your finest clothes. When you are presentable, I would be most pleased if you would consent to join me for my evening meal. Understand, you would not be my only guests, for the affairs of the Varden demand my constant attention, but you would brighten the proceedings considerably for me if you chose to attend."

She must have known Mariah was about to refuse, for Nasuada quickly continued. "I will have one of my finest dresses sent to you, Mariah. Please, take it as a token of friendship between us, for I am very glad to see you return to us." She looked between Eragon and Mariah, with a smile on her lips. "Everything seems to be as it should. Mark, usher them out and then send for Angela for me, if you would, please."

Mark nodded to her, wrapping an arm around each of the Riders, dragging them out, three astride. With Eragon on his left and Mariah on his right he shoved them out of the tent into the afternoon air. With little hesitation he waved Eragon off to clean himself up and ready for the evening meal, watching him shuffle off with Saphira. He turned and blinked at Mariah who had her arms crossed.

"What?"

"All of that was despicable."

He shrugged, going to find Angela with Mariah and Andrar in tow. "Despicable or not, you must make Orrin happy to keep Nasuada from imprisoning you, until she has decided you are friends once more."

"Does she still distrust me so much?"

"The lot of you, yes," he paused to let some soldiers cross their pathway, nodding to their troop leader. "You are Riders, and now there is a small legion of you whom could be more powerful than the Varden in an instant. You could easily overwhelm us all, dethrone Orrin and depose Nasuada. And Orrin trusts you even less, though he has the decorum to hide it from everyone. He would have had you slaughtered the moment you arrived if it were his decision alone."

"I knew I didn't like him."

Mark let out a chuckle as they arrived at Angela's tent, watching Solembum slither through the flap to fetch her. The witch came out again, carrying a basket, bustling past them both. "You never come to simply talk anymore Marcus?"

"Your time is too valuable, Angela." He insisted, shaking his head and walking off with his sister. "Orrin talks of his lineage as if it is to be proud of, however what he does not remember is that Palancar was murdered by the very man he states to be the start of his lineage – Thanebrand. Whom, might I remind everyone who has conveniently forgotten, was the son of Palancar himself."

 **"** Aye, but Lady Marelda was the one who managed to secede from Galbatorix's Empire, without her there would be no Surda, no Varden..."

"Indeed, but those great deeds are not Orrin's. They are part of his lineage, not him."

"You are quite opposed to him, aren't you?" Mariah observed, glancing over at her brother. Behind them, Andrar snorted smoke from his nostrils in a laugh. "Are you bothered Nasuada must spend so much time with him?"

"Honestly, your fantasies are completely absurd sometimes. If dragons didn't exist I would say that your mind was the one who made them up." He sighed, brushing his hair from his eyes. "Would you like to tell me how you spent your time in Urû'baen? Now that you've returned from your dire mission?" She glanced down at herself bloodied, bruised, and battered, and shot him a look. "You can clean up while we talk. I'll help you with your hair if you'd like."

"Fine," she said, folding her arms and heading back to their tents, pushing ahead of him. Mark let her stride ahead, watching the sword against his sister's waist bounce with her every step.

* * *

With Love, As Always,

Mariah Dawnsinger


	14. Ch 94: Good Company

**Chapter Ninety-Four: Good Company**

Mariah relished in the warm water soaking into her skin, drenching her hair and running her fingers through her locks with her nails scraping gently against her scalp. She parted her eyelids, feeling water drip from each lash as she shook herself off quickly, drying her skin with a quiet spell. It had been far too long since she'd been properly clean. The comforts of Urû'baen weren't provided within the Varden, but as a Rider she had been given more amenities than some. A square of lilac-scented soap, for example, and the fine silk dress Nasuada had promised her had been waiting for her inside a tent not far from Mark's. A separate tent had been pitched for Eragon upon their return, as Mark suspected he would like some privacy now that their battle had been won.

Once she was dressed, Mark returned to help lace up the back of her smoky gray gown. He sat her down and picked up her brush, combing through her hair gently. She closed her eyes, enjoying the sensation and remembering how he had done so when she was much younger. Sweeping her hair up on top of her head, and with a few pins she had stolen from Kieran at some point, he kept every last strand in place before they departed from her tent, seeking out Nasuada. Overhead Andrar fluttered, quickly joined by Saphira, soon finding Nasuada and Eragon walking through the sea of tents. She had changed since they had parted and now wore a light summer frock, the color of pale straw. Instantly, Mariah felt overdressed. Nasuada's dense, mosslike hair was piled high on her head in an intricate mass of knots and braids. A single white ribbon held the arrangement in place.

Mariah joined them just before a tent that glowed from within with the light of many candles and that hummed with a multitude of unintelligible voices. Before she had time to observe Eragon, clean-shaven and newly clothed, Nasuada interrupted her thoughts, "Now we must dive into the swamp of politics again. Prepare yourselves." Nasuada insisted, sweeping back the entrance flap to the tent.

"Surprise!"

A wide trestle table laden with food dominated the center of the tent, and at the table were sitting Roran and Katrina, Arya, twenty or so of the villagers from Carvahall – including Horst and his family – Angela, Jeod and his wife, Helen, and several people Eragon did not recognize but who had the look of sailors. A half-dozen children had been playing on the ground next to the table; they paused in their games and stared at Nasuada, Eragon, and Mariah with open mouths, seemingly unable to decide which of these strange figures deserved more of their attention. Smiling brightly at the children, Mariah knelt down as Nanda rushed toward her, offering a hug. She accepted it, picking the small girl up as Angela raised her flagon and piped, "Well, don't just stand there gaping! Come in, sit down. I'm hungry!"

As everyone laughed, Nasuada pulled Eragon toward one of the empty chairs next to Roran. Eragon helped Nasuada to her seat, and as she sank into the chair, he asked, "Did _you_ arrange this?"

"Roran suggested whom you might want to attend, but yes, the original idea was mine. And I made a few additions of my own to the table, as you can see."

"Thank you," said Eragon, humbled. "Thank you so much."

Handing Nanda back to her mother, Mariah turned and stood in front of Nasuada, inclining her head in a small bow. "This is quite wonderful, Nasuada, I appreciate the thought you put into all this."

"Just so you know, your brother was against it," she said, watching Mark walking to stand at Mariah's shoulder.

"I was not," he argued. "I was quite sure I encouraged your plans and compelled Roran to assist us."

Mariah shuddered as she felt a piercing gaze on her back, turning and glancing over her shoulder, meeting violet eyes. The girl, somewhere around elven or twelve years old, was sitting cross-legged in the far-left corner of the tent, a platter of food on her lap. The other children shunned her, and none of the adults, save Angela and Mark, seemed comfortable in her presence. A brush against the girl's consciousness affirmed her suspicions, turning around she walked carefully to the girl, splaying her skirts and sitting in front of her. A few people glanced toward her, but most of them ignored her movement toward the child. Mark smiled thinly at his sister, and gave Eragon a look, silently telling him to let her be.

"Dawnsinger." Her voice came out cold and cruel after she swallowed a strip of meat.

Settling her hands into her lap, Mariah met her gaze evenly, spotting the silver star upon her brow, brushing against her consciousness. _Has Eragon not offered to remove the curse he laid upon you?_

 _He has,_ she said, _But that is of no concern of yours._

 _But it is,_ Mariah insisted, _For as you know, I too was present when he laid the curse upon you._

 _You did not hear him utter the words,_ Elva hissed at her. _You are not responsible._

 _Your existence is of consequence to me, how do I know you will not destroy me?_

At this Elva smirked. _You, who have been the enemy, know better than any what that would mean. Despite your treachery, you are considered friend once more, through the bonds that you shared before your parting._

 _And you aren't welcome here. Yet you stand behind Nasuada._

 _As insurance, protection for the leader of the resistance. I am a tool for her to use, nothing more._

 _You can be whatever you wish to be,_ Mariah assured her, reaching over and brushing her hair back behind her ear out of her violet eyes with her gedwëy ignasia shining on her palm. There was half a moment she thought Elva would bat her hand away, but she instead nearly leaned into the touch. _You carry power that even I cannot conceive. We are not so different, you and I. If there is something I can do for you, Elva Farseer, please let me know._

Mariah's hand dropped back to her lap and Elva blinked once. _How do you not emit sorrow? You were tortured; held captive. You carry it within you - I can sense it - but it does not overwhelm you._

 _I am content with my sorrow,_ she confided. _What has been done, is done. I cannot change my past, and my future seems brighter every day. I would be glad if you were a part of that Elva. Please, try to enjoy the celebration, at least a little._ With that, Mariah stood once again, her silver pool of skirts collecting back around her waist.

She walked back to Mark, who looked at her questioningly until she sat down beside him. He was between her and Nasuada, and in turn Eragon. After so much time spent solely in one another's company during their journey, this separation between them of Mark and Nasuada felt like torture.

"Now that you're both sitting down, Arya?" Mark looked towards the she-elf.

She nodded her head and lifted her right hand, showing them both her silver palm. Eragon started as Mariah leaned toward her. Their eyes then started to dart around the room for a dragon, finding none. The elf's mouth turned upward slightly as she watched them. A moment later from under the table crawled a tiny green dragon. He sat carefully on the edge and blinked, chirping at the other two Riders. "His name is Fírnen." They spoke with her rapidly all at once, but she shook her head, insisting, "Later."

For the next few hours, they lost themselves in a blur of food, drink, and the pleasure of good company. It was like returning home. Finally, after everything, Carvahall incarnate. The wine flowed like water, and after they had drained their cups once or twice, the villagers forgot their deference and treated Eragon and Mariah as their own, which was the greatest gift they could contrast to the rest of the tent, Mark and Mariah kept their glasses filled with water. Once, Roran noticed and called Mark out on his aversion toward the liquor, to which Mark responded, "I'd like to keep my wits about me, in the event Katrina comes to her senses."

The comment sent Katrina into a laughing fit, and forced Roran to scowl. "What's that supposed to mean, eh?"

"Merely that it's obvious your lady love is confused as to whom is the better suitor." Mark smirked into his cup, feeling Mariah kick him under the table. "What?"

"Say it to my face, bookworm."

"Stronghammer, I'd much rather enjoy my sister's company than your fiancee's," Mark insisted, flicking his hair out of his eyes, looking toward them. Katrina smiled and kissed Roran's cheek quickly, helping Mark prove his point. "See? There you have it, she's made her decision."

Roran boomed with a laugh after a moment, finding the thought amusing as wine bubbled in his blood. Across the table came the even deeper boom of Horst's laugh. Muttering an incantation, Angela set to dancing a small man she had fashioned from a crust of sourdough bread, much to everyone's amusement. The children gradually overcame their fear of the dragons and dared to walk up to them and pet their snouts. Soon they were clambering over Saphira's neck, hanging from Andrar's spikes, and tugging at the crests above their eyes. Eragon laughed as he watched.

Fírnen made his way down the table, slinking around goblets of wine and plates overflowing with food to visit Eragon, and then Mariah. She smiled at the green hatchling and tapped her finger against his nose, listening to him purr and chirp gleefully. He flicked his tail and pressed against her hand before scampering back down to Arya, who smiled at her gently.

 _The hatchling chose his Rider well._

 _Yes,_ Mariah agreed, watching the she-elf. _He could not have chosen someone more suited to being a Rider than Arya._

Jeod entertained the crowd with a song he had learned from a book long ago. Tara danced a jig. Nasuada's teeth flashed as she tossed her head back. And Eragon along with Mariah, by popular request, recounted several of their adventures, including a detailed description of their flight from Carvahall with Brom, which was of special interest to the listeners.

"To think," said Gertrude, the round-faced healer tugging on her shawl, "we had dragons in our valley and we never even knew it."

"Dawnsinger!" Mariah snapped her attention up as Roran called to her. "Regale us with a song, would you? I want to know how you received your name." She fought down a blush and gave him a pleading look, but he already had the attention of half the tent.

Nasuada smiled at her gently, "Sing us something lovely, Mariah."

"You'll put me to shame, we all know!" Jeod cawed out to her. Helen folded her arms and nodded from beside him.

Standing, Mariah inhaled and started singing just loud enough to fill the tent, all but silencing her listeners. It was something warm and familiar that had been sung during the coldest days of winter in Carvahall. The moment Mark recognized the song he stood and started to sing with her. Not even halfway through, almost all of the villagers had joined her song, clapping and started to get rowdy once more. She saw Nasuada clapping for her and Eragon watching her carefully from behind the dark-skinned woman.

Elain was the first to leave the party, pleading exhaustion brought on by her advanced stage of pregnancy; one of her sons, Baldor, went with her. Half an hour later, Nasuada also made to leave, explaining that the demands of her position prevented her from staying as long as she would like but that she wished them health and happiness and hoped they would continue to support her in her fight against the Empire. Arya left with her, Fírnen upon her shoulder, inclining her head to them both and expressing her relief that they were both safe and well.

As Nasuada moved away from the table, she beckoned to Eragon. Mariah watched him go and return after a few moments, he seemed as though he was trying not to appear troubled. Much later, when the candles guttered in their sockets and the villagers began to disperse in twos and threes, Mark rose beside his sister and exited the tent with Eragon on their heels. Roran stopped his cousin and drew him aside, speaking with him quietly beside Saphira. Mariah's ears piqued up but she was unable to hear over the racket inside the tent.

"Something happened while you were gone." Mariah looked up at her brother who was smiling at her wickedly. "Are you going to tell me?"

"It's nothing," she assured him quickly.

He jerked his head up slightly, raising an eyebrow. "Ah. Right, nothing." He chortled deep in his throat and folded his arms, leaning forward toward her. "Little sister, you are a terrible liar."

"And you're nosy and obnoxious!"

At his laugh, she punched him in the shoulder, which only forced him to laugh harder. Relief flowed through him, drawing joy from the depths of his stomach. Eragon did not hate her after all, his worrying was for naught. In fact, they seemed as though they could barely stand being parted from one another. His insistence to Nasuada not to let them sit beside one another at the celebration confirmed his suspicions. Not letting them sit adjacent, they were forced to crane their necks to even see the other, and subtle glances quickly became out-of-place.

He had nothing to worry over now that his sister was back, and Eragon was very much concerned about her every action. Mark remembered the look on Eragon's face earlier when marriage proposals had been proffered to her and he busted out with another fit of laughter. Tears were forming in his eyes as Mariah finally huffed and turned to see where her friend had gone off to.

Eragon was shooing Roran back into the tent, laughing. For the first time that night, she saw him, head to toe. With his hair cleaned and his skin free of dirt, his skin almost glowed in the moonlight. Behind her, she heard Mark collect himself finally. He waved at Eragon. "I'm off. Don't stay up too late. You should rest after such a long trip." With that, he turned and strode off, disappearing between the tents in a few moments.

"You look stunning," Eragon said to her, tucking his hands behind his back.

"It's amazing what a tub of water can do for your appearance," she said, glancing down at herself. "Your clothes, they don't look..."

"It's lámarae, elvish."

She nodded, "It suits you now."

They stood for a moment in the silence before Eragon raised his voice slightly. "Blödhgarm?" he called. Quiet as a shadow, the furred elf glided into the light, his yellow eyes glowing like coals. "Saphira and I are going to fly for a little while. We will meet you at my tent."

"Shadeslayer," said Blödhgarm, and tilted his head his eyes observed Mariah for a moment before he stepped back again.

He turned halfway toward Saphira and waited. Mariah blinked and strode to him, feeling him take her hand and help her up onto the dragoness's back. He jumped smoothly and settled himself behind her. Then Saphira raised her massive wings, ran forward three steps, and launched herself over the rows of tents, battering them with wind as she flapped hard and fast. Saphira spiraled upward above the twinkling camp until it was an inconsequential patch of light dwarfed by the dark landscape that surrounded it. There she remained, floating between the heavens and earth, and all was silent.

Mariah sat sideways on her back, looking at Eragon who had yet to speak. He was watching the stars, his face soft, content.

"Roran asked me to officiate his marriage to Katrina," he said absently.

"When?"

"Day after tomorrow."

Quietly, she asked, "So soon?"

"Aye," he said, looking down at her finally. "Roran said he did not want to hear gossip about Katrina."

"I suspected as much from her expression earlier," Mariah admitted, smiling. "You realize that makes you an uncle?" He leaned back slightly, letting out a single chuckle. "Ah, I've surprised you, though that was certainly not my intention."

He shook his head. "No, I just hadn't thought of that yet. I was more focused on Roran getting married."

"I'm happy for him. He has chased Katrina for long enough, and his willingness to rescue her makes me feel confident they have made a good decision."

"Aye…" They remained in each other's company for some time, enjoying the silence between them and the sky. Saphira drifted up and down on the drafts high above the Varden's camp. Finally, Eragon touched a hand to her arm, "Mariah?" Nodding into sleep, she woke fully, looking up at him blearily. "Let's get you back to your tent, so you can sleep in a proper bed."

Saphira circled down, dropping near their tents, crouching, allowing them to dismount. After jumping down, Eragon turned and assisted Mariah from his dragoness's back, catching her as the dress stuck on Saphira's spikes. When she realized he was supporting her full weight she tapped his shoulder. "You can set me down now you know." It still unnerved her that he could carry her; she kept imagining a rippling scar across his spine akin to the one Murtagh bore.

Eragon gently placed her feet on the ground and escorted her back to her tent. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yes," she assured him, nodding. "You should rest too, please. I'll not let you hear the end of it if I find you haven't slept at all."

A chuckle escaped his throat, "Of course Mariah. Good night."

"Good night, Eragon." Mariah watched him leave and changed into a set of loose night clothes, crawling into her bed.

She had been asleep for no more than an hour when a buzzing in her mind woke her, _Andrar?_

 _Thorn and the others have returned, they wanted you to quietly warn the sentry._

Mariah jumped out of bed, running outside and climbed onto his back, shivering against the cold night air. He leaped up and quickly flew across camp to the eastern edge. Picking up on the guards, she slipped into their minds and quickly informed several that the arrivals were allies, not foes, and to spread the word not to shoot them down.

Once Thorn and Nasreen were within several hundred feet, Andrar let out a quiet roar in greeting, twisting and revealing Mariah on his back. Her hair was sticking up in places and she was barefoot. She rose and fell with Andrar, staring at Murtagh. _I informed the sentry that we do not wish to cause a commotion. When Eragon and I returned the entire camp was drawn out._ She observed Kendra and shook her head. _Is everyone alright?_

 _As well as we can be,_ Murtagh assured her, holding on as Thorn swept down toward the edge of the camp. He and Nasreen alighted on the ground gently beside Andrar, placing a limp body on the ground from her forepaw. Carefully, the ruby dragon lowered the wolf to the ground from his talons. As Kieran dropped, Mariah hurried to her, embracing her tightly.

"I'm glad you are safe."

"Aye, you as well. Nasuada said you had gone off to find your sister." Mariah said, watching as Kieran went to assist Murtagh.

"She was going to run into Sigrúne," Kieran said, "She could have died."

Trevin and Rowan fell from Nasreen's saddle, rubbing their sore muscles. "It was a suicide mission. I don't know why she thought we could fight a Rider," said Trevin. "Let alone a Shade."

"Lady Dawnsinger," Rowan acknowledged her before turning back towards the others, watching Kendra. "That Shade killed Delaney."

Kieran hesitated and looked back at the two of them, "I'm... truly sorry." Her sister was still alive yet, and their companion had died following her leadership.

"You did what you could," Rowan said gruffly, glancing at Trevin. They walked over and examined Del's corpse before helping each other lift his body and carry it back toward their camp. Mariah and Kieran watched them fade into the group of black tents silently.

Holding Kendra against his chest, Murtagh shook his head, "Let's get her laying down, she's already lost a lot of blood." Without waiting for either of them to respond, he started for her pavilion with the lady Riders in tow. Setting her down on her bed, he lowered her carefully. "I'm getting Nyx."

"You should try and get some sleep." Mariah said, watching him leave again with a sigh. Kieran shook her head. "I'll make sure the sentries know that no one else should be flying into the camp tonight."

"Thank you," the princess said, watching the red Rider come back, carrying Nyx in his arms. On his shoulder was the small black dragon. She fluttered off and onto the bed, curling up beside Kendra, tucking herself under her arm.

He set the wolf on the floor near Kendra and knelt down, releasing the sleeping spell. Immediately, the wolf's eyes snapped open, his jaws chomping down on Murtagh's arm as he growled viciously at him. "Stop that," he said, grabbing him by the collar. "I could have left you in those ruins." The wolf snarled up at him and relaxed as Murtagh released his neck fur, healing the wounds on his arm. Gently, Nyx sniffed forward and licked at the blood, whimpering. Once the punctures were all healed, the wolf sat up, panting. "Good... I'm going to stay up the rest of the night, you two should get to bed." He said, sitting in a chair and looking at them.

Mariah raised an eyebrow at him as Kieran walked over, setting a hand on his shoulder. "Thank you for rescuing my sister." She leaned down and kissed his cheek before walking out into the night.

"You need sleep, you've expended nearly all of your energy-"

Murtagh cut her off, "When did you get back?"

"This morning."

"Then you need sleep as much as I do," he said, leaning on one knee, looking up at her. There were dark circles underneath his eyes, and his hair was matted down from the weather and flying. Now was not the time to discuss anything with him. Mariah looked between Murtagh and Kendra, nodding for herself. She had experienced this same position on both sides. Knowing no words could convey her understanding, or express her concern for his well being, she gave him a small smile and left him.

Murtagh picked up an empty piece of parchment and a stick of charcoal, dragging strokes against the paper. He shifted to a new, clean scroll every quarter of an hour or so, glancing at Kendra, eventually just laying his head on his right arm as he drew with his left hand.

He startled when Kieran pressed her hand to his shoulder, waking him gently. "You need to go lay down and sleep... please Murtagh."

Rubbing his eyes, he sat up. "I'm fine Kieran."

"Go. Or I'll make you."

Dropping his hands into his lap, he blinked up at her. She had her hands on her hips, and her mouth pursed, staring at him. He let out a tired chuckle and stood, glancing at the table. Kieran followed his gaze and picked up one of the pages carefully. He moved to stop her, realizing he had been too slow.

"This is amazing. I knew you could draw well, but this..."

"Just don't let her see," he muttered, walking out of the tent, finding the sun had yet to rise. The early morning air was cold and crisp in his lungs. Awake again, he turned away from his quarters to find something else to occupy his time. Kieran looked back down at the pages of drawings, smiling gently at her twin's features. Looking up at her asleep in the bed, she sighed and settled into the chair Murtagh had occupied throughout the night, carefully rolling up the drawings and tucking them away.

* * *

With Love, As Always,

Mariah Dawnsinger


	15. Ch 95: Nameless Fortunes

**Chapter Ninety-Five: Nameless Fortunes**

The stars were still hanging in the sky when Mariah woke to someone moving just outside her tent. She pushed out her consciousness and convinced herself to dress. Changing into a comfortable pair of pants and a cotton shirt, she stepped out from her tent. Coming toe-to-toe with Murtagh, she frowned at him, realizing he was still wearing the same clothes he'd been in when he'd returned. He grimaced at her as she folded her arms. "I can't sit still. Kieran came in to watch Kendra, and told me to sleep."

"Come on," she whispered, walking through the sea of tents with him on her heels. The sun wasn't even up yet, and she thanked whatever magic allowed her to see through the darkness. Behind her, Murtagh walked almost silently, despite his boots and Zar'roc on his hip.

They exited the perimeter line of the camp. Mariah stopped when the guards spotted them, halting to explain that they were going out to train. Realizing there was little he could do to stop a Dragon Rider, he agreed, watching them walk through the gate. Launching into a full sprint, they hurtled away from camp and within a few short minutes they were out of sight. Stopping on the crest of a hill so they would see anyone coming, they slowed to a stop and removed their boots, feeling the dew from the moonlight on their skin. Murtagh unbelted Zar'roc, setting it down nearby a rock and started stretching. Pulling her hair back, Mariah tied her black locks into a high and tight ponytail with a strip of fabric. Once they were both done readying themselves – and Mariah had done a backward handspring for good measure - they faced each other, barefoot and weaponless.

Hands up, Mariah took a deep breath, watching him as he smirked and lashed out a hand towards her, shooting past her face with an open palm. She twisted around his strike and pulled her arm around his own, spinning and trying to throw him to the ground. Murtagh quickly maneuvered out of her grip and spun to face her again. They exchanged a few more blows until Murtagh managed to get a foot around her ankle, flipping her onto her back. Mariah rolled and vaulted back onto her feet. She threw a punch at his face, feeling him pull up his forearm to shield himself, pushing aside her arm and reaching forward again to strike her in the shoulder. The Riders exchanged a few more blows before the dragons joined them on the hilltop, Andrar, Thorn, and Nasreen all stretching out their wings and lounging in the company of the Riders.

Both of them landed a few solid hits before Mariah twisted around and slammed her heel into his side, forcing Murtagh to the ground. He grunted and blocked the follow-up kick, grabbing her leg and dropping her to the dirt with him. Rapidly he returned to his feet and jumped back from her next attack, planting her hands in the grass and pouncing back upright. When she paused for a breath, Murtagh pressed forward, throwing an open-palmed strike towards her face, forcing her to stand up straight again and dodge the blow, watching his hand whip past her cheek. When she turned her head from the attack, she saw Mark in the distance, riding towards them.

Mariah sighed at him, forcing Murtagh to look over at the man as well. He shook his head and wiped the sweat from his forehead. "What's he want so early?"

"I don't know, probably come to see why I've sneaked away before sunrise with you of all people."

"He's not still going on about that is he?" he asked, looking back at Mariah just in time to dodge another punch to his face.

After several more minutes of hand to hand combat, they performed the same motion, catching the other on the arm and halting their progress. Murtagh chuckled and shook his head, dropping her arm. "I think we've exhausted our move set." Running his hand through his hair, now slick with sweat, Murtagh stretched sore muscles and winced at new bruises before pulling his boots back on. Mark rode up atop Aluora, reining her in. After pulling Zar'roc back around his waist Murtagh went to Thorn and jumped up into the divot between the dragon's shoulders. "I'm going to clean up and find some breakfast; I'll see you back at camp then?"

"Yes," Mariah nodded. Mark watched as Thorn spread his wings and lumbered a few feet away before jumping into the air and lurching off back towards the tents. Looking toward her brother, Mariah put her hand on her hip. "Good morning to you too."

"I hope you weren't out too late." He said, turning back to her.

"Only to help Murtagh and the princesses." Mariah walked to him as he dismounted, "Did you see Kendra?"

"Aye, this morning, Kieran was with her. There's nothing more I can do. Murtagh can heal wounds as easily as he can inflict them, and that's quite impressive. You must have learned much while at the castle."

She nodded, starting back toward camp. Nasreen opened one eye and looked at the two before closing it again, adjusting herself on the hill and settling back into a half-slumber. Andrar yawned, flicking his tail and rose to his feet, lumbering after the siblings. His even pace was slow enough for Mariah and Mark to trot beside him and still hold a full conversation. "What exists between you and Kendra anyway?"

"Dear sister are you presuming I have emotions?"

"We all know you don't, but humor me, it's early and I've barely seen you since the battle."

"Very well," he cleared his throat, "Nothing."

Mariah paused, glaring over at him, "Don't play games with me."

"Truly. Did you see me rushing off after her to save her from a Rider and a Shade, and their dragon? I certainly didn't wake up in the middle of the night, nor did I do any bit of healing to her whatsoever."

"Well she certainly isn't indifferent toward you." Mariah looked ahead of them as the sun broke the horizon, smiling as the first rays of morning caught the waves on the Jiet River. "And why is Nasuada calling her Wolfshadow now?"

"Nyx, her wolf, is never far behind her, and is black. The creature is like her shadow, simple as that. Nasuada thought it clever." He smiled as Aluora nuzzled his shoulder. Mark dropped her reins and folded his arms as they walked. "Kendra is... difficult. You have been with her sister for quite some time so you must know how it is, to some extent. She is struggling with her reality so strongly that she is trying to convince herself her lie is truth."

"It's early Mark... please?"

"I cannot speak any more plainly."

"That itself is a lie. You were speaking with her, several days ago now, and you were genuinely intrigued by your conversation. I could see you, honestly. You. Not..." She motioned toward him.

"You just gestured to all of me."

"Exactly. This is not you, this is... Nasuada's pet."

"I take offense. I am not a dog, I know exactly what I'm doing."

"Trying to make Murtagh jealous of you? Or... convince Kendra that you're clearly a better option, because you're not a Rider? But clearly you're clever enough and strong enough to keep up with her..." She watched him nodding and paused. "What?"

"No, no, go on; this is quite amusing."

"You... ugh!" Mariah bit her tongue. "Are you trying to make him jealous?"

Mark tipped his head back and forth. "Not exactly. I am actually quite civil with him now - we've been talking. I decided it was in my best interest to stop Kendra from being excessively violent, and to stop Murtagh from skulking about if I was to intervene. So I am."

"But she hates him."

He chuckled. "No she doesn't."

"He told me himself, 'she will not have me'. I think it was pretty clear."

"Do you want to help me or not, because if I can't convince you that Murtagh at least still wants her, then I'm not asking you to join in on my meddling."

The guards posted around the perimeter of the camp saluted towards them, seeing Andrar before either of the humans walking with him. "Ah, Lady Dawnsinger! Lord Marcus!"

"Just out for an early morning walk, pay us no mind. Nasreen will return shortly, don't shoot her from the skies," Mark said.

Mariah set a hand on Andrar's leg as she paused beside one of the guards. After their request was acknowledged, she continued walking with her dragon the rest of the way back to her tent. With the warmth of the sun beating on her skin, settled for humming until she arrived back at her quarters, changing while her brother waited outside. As she re-dressed, her humming turned into quiet singing. Finally, garbed in a purple tunic and tan breeches, she walked with Mark the short distance to Eragon's tent, singing to Saphira as she raised her head.

The dragoness rumbled in her chest and snorted a small burst of flames from her maw, flicking her tail in time with Mariah's tune. _Lovely, little one, thank you._

"If only I could please you always Saphira."

"I'll find you later," Mark said quietly, patting her shoulder and waving at Eragon.

 _You do a wonderful job of it most of the time,_ Saphira assured the girl, looking over as her Rider poked his head out of his tent.

"I was just fixing my chainmail, if you wanted to sit with me. I have to meet with Nasuada soon though."

"That's alright," she said. "I'll stay with you until then." Andrar lumbered to Saphira, laying down beside her and closing his eyes to sleep.

* * *

 _Why do you insist upon doing that?_

 _What?_ Murtagh asked, carefully scraping the knife across his cheek again with practiced ease.

 _Removing the hair on your face?_

A quiet chuckled broke through his throat as he listened to the dragon's puzzlement. _Preference. I don't want a beard, and it's been far too long since I've shaved this all off. And my hair was getting a little long._

 _I understand the concept, and a preference for it, but I fail to see any benefit. It seems as though it would keep your face warmer, no? As a Rider, it seems wiser._

 _True._ Murtagh agreed slowly, turning his head slightly, noting the points of his ears tapered slightly now that his hair was cropped away.

 _Then, why do you prefer not to simply grow a beard and be done with all this bother? Unless it is not your preference, but another's._ When there was no response, Thorn thrummed loudly in his chest, satisfied at Murtagh's lack of an answer. _As I suspected._

 _Your name suits you too well it seems,_ he growled, throwing down the knife and wiping residue from his face. Picking up the black tunic Mark had found for him, he pulled it over his head, shaking his hair out. Grabbing his sword, he tied it to his waist and stepped out into the sunlight.

Thorn blinked his large red eye at Murtagh and snorted. _You look better in red._

"I've had enough of red for a while. Why Galbatorix chose it as his flagship color I have no idea..." Walking over, he brushed his hand over Thorn's snout and sighed. "You shouldn't be this big yet."

 _No, but I am what I am._ Thorn stretched, rolling onto his side and reached out with his large forepaw, dragging Murtagh toward him, observing his Rider upside down. _Stop trying to hide everything from me, you know it's not working._

"I'm still not used to someone sharing all my thoughts." Murtagh scratched under the dragon's jaw, smiling slightly as he leaned into it. "But I do not mind."

 _Well, I certainly do, especially when your entire being is focused on someone else. If you won't take care of you, who will?_

"It's not me I'm worried about," he admitted. The Rider spent a few more minutes rubbing and scratching at his scaly hide. Absently, he picked at Thorn's scales.

 _She won't talk to you yet, if she's even awake._

"Then I should go find Eragon and talk with him, now that everyone is back and in better spirits." Thorn fell back onto his legs and dipped his head slightly in a nod. "You should probably apologize to Saphira for hurting her as well... don't think you've done that yet, have you?"

 _There has not been time to do so._

"Then you should come with," he insisted. "Why don't you fly overhead and see where they are?" The words had barely left his mouth when Thorn jumped skyward, flying off and circling overhead to locate Saphira. Murtagh headed towards the center of the camp, knowing he would be able to get most anywhere from there. He watched his dragon land a few minutes walk away and soon came across Mariah and Eragon walking toward Nasuada's tent. He stopped and looked between the two of them for a moment before staring past them at Saphira. "I was wondering if you had a minute?"

"I'll meet you at Nasuada's tent, alright Eragon?"

If Eragon was going to protest, Mariah had taken his opportunity, smiling at the two of them before hurrying off. Murtagh watched her leave, wincing internally that she had left them alone. He turned back to Eragon and tapped his leg. "Firstly, I wanted to apologize for what happened on the Burning Plains..."

"You're forgiven."

Murtagh blinked at him, slack jawed for a moment before folding his arms. "Alright... well..."

"I have to be at Nasuada's pavilion very soon," Eragon said. Watching his jaw flex, he added, "But afterward I would be very glad to speak with you."

Inclining his head, Murtagh stepped aside so he and Saphira could pass. As they walked off, Eragon gently bumped his fist against Murtagh's upper arm, giving him a flat smile.

About a hundred feet from the pavilion, they came upon Angela, and Mariah watching her. She was kneeling between two tents, pointing at a square of leather draped across a low, flat rock. On the leather lay a jumbled pile of finger-length bone branded with a different symbol on each facet: the knucklebones of a dragon, with which she had read Eragon's future in Teirm.

Opposite Angela sat a tall woman with broad shoulders; tanned, weather-beaten skin; black hair braided in a long, thick rope down her back; and a face that was still handsome despite the hard lines that the years had carved around her mouth. She wore a russet dress that had been made for a shorter woman; her wrists stuck out several inches from the ends of her sleeves. She had tied a strip of dark cloth around each wrist, but the strip on the left had loosened and slipped toward her elbow. Eragon saw thick layers of scars where it had been. They were the sort of scars one could only get from the constant chafing of manacles. At some point, he realized, she had been captured by her enemies, and she had fought – fought until she had torn open her wrists to the bone, if her scars were anything to judge by. He wondered whether she had been a criminal or a slave, and he felt his countenance darken as he considered the thought of someone being so cruel as to allow such harm to befall a prisoner under his control, even if it was self-inflicted.

Next to the woman was a serious-looking teenage girl just entering into the full bloom of her adult beauty. The muscles of her forearms were unusually large, as if she had been an apprentice to a smith or a swordsman, which was highly improbable for a girl, no matter how strong she might be.

Angela had just finished saying something to the woman and her companion when Eragon and Saphira halted behind the curly-haired witch. With a single motion, Angela gathered up the knuckle-bones in the leather square and tucked them under the yellow sash at her waist. Standing, she flashed Eragon and Saphira a brilliant smile. "My, you have the most impeccable sense of timing. You always seem to turn up whenever the drop spindle of fate beings to spin."

"The drop spindle of fate?" questioned Eragon.

She shrugged. "What? You can't expect brilliance all the time, not even from me." She gestured at the two strangers, who had also stood, and said, "Eragon, will you consent to give them your blessing? They have endured many dangers, and a hard road yet lies before them. I am sure they would appreciate whatever protection the benediction of a Dragon Rider may convey."

Eragon hesitated. He knew that Angela rarely cast the dragon bones for people who sought her services – usually only for those whom Solembum deigned to speak with – as such a prognostication was no false act of magic but rather a true foretelling that could reveal the mysteries of the future. That Angela had chosen to do this for the handsome woman with the scars on her wrists and the teenage girl with the forearms of a swordfighter told him they were people of note, people who had, and would have, important roles in shaping the Alagaësia to be. As if to confirm his suspicions, he spotted Solembum in his usual form of a cat with large, tufted ears lurking behind the corner of a nearby tent, watching the proceedings with enigmatic yellow eyes. And yet Eragon still hesitated, haunted by the memory of the first and last blessing he had bestowed – how, because of his relative unfamiliarity with the ancient language, he had distorted the life of an innocent child.

"Angela..." Mariah said to her, glancing at Eragon, setting a hand on his forearm. She turned to look at the travelers and smiled gently. "May I ask your names?"

"If it please you, Lady Rider," said the tall, black-haired woman, with a hint of an accent he could not place, "names have power, and we would prefer ours remain unknown." She kept her gaze angled slightly downward, but her tone was firm and unyielding. The girl uttered a small gasp, as if shocked by the woman's effrontery.

Eragon raised an eyebrow, neither upset nor surprised, although the woman's reticence had piqued his curiosity even more. He would have liked to know their names.

Mariah raised her hand, carefully placing her hand on the woman's brow. She flinched at the contact but did not retreat. Her nostrils flared, the corners of her mouth thinned, a crease appeared between her eyebrows, and she felt her tremble, as if her touch pained her and she were fighting the urge to knock aside her arm. In the background, Eragon was vaguely aware of Blödhgarm stalking closer, ready to pounce on the woman should she prove to be hostile.

Disconcerted by her reaction, Mariah broached the barrier in her mind, immersed herself in the flow of magic, and, with the full power of the ancient language, said, "Atra guliä un ilian tauthr ono un atra ono waíse sköliro fra rauthr." By imbuing the phrase with energy, as she would the words of a spell, she ensured that it would shape the course of events and thereby improve the woman's lot in life. She was careful to limit the amount of energy she transferred into the blessing, for unless she put checks on it, a spell of that sort would feed off her body until it absorbed all of her vitality, leaving her an empty husk. Despite her caution, the drop in her strength was more than she expected; her vision dimmed and her legs wobbled and threatened to collapse underneath her. Eragon wrapped a hand around her arms, a surge of energy steadying her instantly. The woman stepped back and rubbed her arms. She looked like a person trying to cleanse herself of some foul substance.

Mariah looked up at Eragon and thanked him quietly. He nodded and moved to the teenage girl, greeting her and performing the spell as Mariah had done. The girl's face widened as he released the spell, as if she could feel it becoming part of her body. She curtsied. "Thank you, Shadeslayer, Dawnsinger. We are in your debt. I hope that you succeed in defeating Galbatorix and the Empire."

She turned to leave but stopped when Saphira snorted and snaked her head past Eragon and Angela, so she loomed above the two women. Bending her neck, Saphira breathed first upon the face of the older woman and then upon the face of the younger, and projecting her thoughts with such force as to overwhelm all but the thickest defenses – for she and Eragon had noticed that the black haired woman had a well-armored mind – she said, _Good hunting, O Wild Ones. May the wind rise under your wings, may the sun always be at your backs, and may you catch your prey napping. And, Wolf-Eyes, I hope that when you find the one who left your paws in his traps, you do not kill him too quickly._

Both women stiffened when Saphira began to speak. Afterward, the elder clapped her fists against her chest and said, "That I shall not, O Beautiful Huntress." Then she bowed to Angela, saying, "Train hard, strike first, Seer."

"Bladesinger."

With a swirl of skirts, she and the teenager strode away and soon were lost from sight in the maze of identical gray tents.

 _What, no marks upon their foreheads?_ Eragon asked Saphira.

 _Elva was unique. I shall not brand anyone else in a like manner. What happened in Farthen Dûr just... happened. Instinct drove me. Beyond that, I cannot explain._

As the three of them walked toward Nasuada's pavilion, Eragon glanced at Angela. "Who were they?"

Her lips quirked. "Pilgrims on their own quest."

"That is hardly an answer," he complained.

"It is not my habit to hand out secrets like candied nuts on winter solstice. Especially not when they belong to others."

Mariah smiled at her answer, "You should not be so nosy Eragon, look where it gets Mark."

He was silent for a few paces. Then: "When someone refuses to tell me a certain piece of information, it only makes me that much more determined to find out the truth. I hate being ignorant. For me, a question unanswered is like a thorn in my side that pains me every time I move until I can pluck it out."

"You have my sympathy," Angela said.

"Why is that?"

"Because if that is so, you must spend every waking hour in mortal agony, for life is full of unanswerable questions."

Sixty feet from Nasuada's pavilion, a contingent of pikemen marching through camp blocked their way. While they waited for the warriors to file past, Eragon shivered and blew on his hands. "I wish we had time for a meal."

Quick as ever, Angela said, "It's the magic, isn't it? It has worn you down." He nodded. Sticking a hand into one of the pouches that hung from her sash, Angela pulled out a hard brown lump flecked with shiny flaxseeds. "Here, this will hold you until lunch."

Mariah looked towards her dubiously. "What is it?"

She thrust it at him, insistent. "Eat it. You'll like it. Trust me." The pikemen having gone, they continued toward the pavilion, accompanied by Solembum, who had joined them without Eragon noticing. Picking her way around the piles of dung left by the horses of King Orrin's cavalry, Angela said, "So tell me: aside from your fight with the Ra'zac, did anything terribly interesting happen to you during your trip? You know how I love to hear about _interesting_ things."

Eragon smiled and said, "Since you ask, quite a few interesting things happened. For example, we met a hermit named Tenga living in the ruins of an elf tower." Mariah shook her head at his commentary. "He possessed the most amazing library. In it were seven-"

Angela stopped so abruptly, Eragon kept walking another three paces before he caught himself and turned back. The witch seemed stunned, as if she had taken a hard knock to her head. Padding toward her, Solembum leaned against her legs and gazed upward. Angela wet her lips, then said, "Are..." She coughed once. "Are you sure his name was Tenga?"

"Have you met him?"

Solembum hissed, and the hair on his back stood straight out. Eragon edged away from the werecat, eager to escape the reach of his claws.

"Met him?" With a bitter laugh, Angela planted her hands on her hips. "Met him? Why, I did better than that! I was his apprentice... for an unfortunate number of years."

Eragon had never expected Angela to willingly reveal anything about her past. Eager to learn more, he asked, "When did you meet him? And where?"

"Long ago and far away. However, we parted badly, and I have not seen him for many, many years." Angela frowned. "In fact, I thought he was already dead."

Saphira spoke then, saying, _Since you were Tenga's apprentice, do you know what question he's trying to answer?_

"I have not the slightest idea. Tenga always had a question he was trying to answer. If he succeeded, he immediately chose another one, and so on. He may have answered a hundred questions since I last saw him, or he may still be gnashing his teeth over the same conundrum as when I left him."

 _Which was?_

"Whether the phases of the moon influence the number and quality of the opals that form in the roots of the Beor Mountains, as is commonly held among the dwarves."

"But how could you prove that?" objected Eragon.

Angela shrugged. "If anyone could, it would be Tenga. He may be deranged, but his brilliance is none the less for it."

 _He is a man who kicks at cats_ , said Solembum, as if that summed up Tenga's entire character.

At that Mariah smiled, "Then I am glad we left him when we did. And I am sorry I did not curse him so that he no longer kicks at cats."

Then Angela clapped her hands together and said, "No more! Eat your sweet, Eragon, and let us go to Nasuada."

* * *

With Love, As Always,

Mariah Dawnsinger


	16. Ch 96: Making Amends

**Chapter Ninety-Six: Making Amends**

"You are late," said Nasuada as they found seats in the row of chairs arranged in a semicircle before Nasuada's high-backed throne. Also seated in the semi-circle were Mark, Elva and her caretaker, Greta, the old woman who had pleaded with Eragon in Farthen Dûr to bless her charge. As before, Saphira lay outside the pavilion and stuck her head through an opening at one end so that she could participate in the meeting. Solembum had curled up in a ball next to her head. He appeared to be sound asleep, except for occasional flicks of his tail.

Along with Angela, Eragon made his apologies for their tardiness. Mariah repeated him and sat beside her brother. They listened as Nasuada explained to Elva the value of her abilities to the Varden – _As if she doesn't already know,_ Eragon commented to Saphira – and entreated her to release Eragon from his promise to try to undo the effects of his blessing. She said she understood that what she was asking of Elva was difficult, but the fate of the entire land was at stake, and was it not worth sacrificing one's own comfort to help rescue Alagaësia from Galbatorix's evil clutches? It was a magnificent speech: eloquent, impassioned, and full of arguments intended to appeal to Elva's more noble sentiments.

Elva, who had been resting her small, pointed chin on her fists, raised her head and said, "No." Shocked silence pervaded the pavilion, aside from Mark who fought down a noise akin to a muffled laugh. Transferring her unblinking gaze from one person to the next, she elaborated: "You, Riders and Magicians, you both know what it is like to share someone's thoughts and emotions as they die. You know how horrible, how wrenching it is, how it feels as if part of yourself has vanished forever. And that is only from the death of one person. Neither of you have had to endure the experience unless you want to, whereas I... I have no choice but to share them all. I feel every death around me. Even now I can feel the life ebbing out of Sefton, one of your swordsmen, Nasuada, who was wounded on the Burning Plains, and I know what words I could say to him that would lessen his terror of obliteration. His fear is so great, oh, it makes me tremble!" With an incoherent cry, she cast up her arms before her face, as if to ward off a blow. Then: "Ah, he has gone. But there are others. There are always others. The line of dead never ends." The bitter mocking quality of her voice intensified, a travesty of a child's normal speech. "Do you truly understand, Nasuada, Lady Nightstalker... She Who Would Be Queen of the World? Do you truly understand? I am privy to all of the agony around me, whether physical or mental. I feel it as if it were my own, and Eragon's magic drives me to alleviate the discomfort of those who suffer, regardless of the cost to myself. And if I resist the urge, as I am this very moment, my body rebels against me: my stomach turns acid, my head throbs as if a dwarf is hammering on it, and I find it hard to move, much less think. Is this what you would wish on me, Nasuada?

"Night and day I have no respite from the pain of the world. Since Eragon _blessed_ me, I have known nothing but hurt and fear, never happiness or pleasure. The lighter side of life, the things that make this existence bearable, these are denied me. Never do I see them. Never do I share in them. Only darkness. Only the combined misery of all the men, women, and children within a mile, battering at me like a midnight storm. This _blessing_ has deprived me of the opportunity to be like other children. It has forced my body to mature faster than normal, and my mind even faster still. Eragon may be able to remove this ghastly ability of mine and the compulsion that accompanies it, but he cannot return me to what I was, nor what I should be, not without destroying who I have become. I am a freak, neither a child nor an adult, forever doomed to stand apart. I am not blind, you know. I see how you recoil when you hear me speak." She shook her head. "No, this is too much to ask of me. I will not continue like this for the sake of you, Nasuada, nor the Varden, nor the whole of Alagaësia, nor even for my dear mother, were she still alive today. It is not worth it, not for anything. I could go live by myself, so that I would be free of other people's afflictions, but I do not want to live like that. No, the only solution is for Eragon to attempt to correct his mistake." Her lips curved in a sly smile. "And if you disagree with me, if you think I am being stupid and selfish, why, then, you would do well to remember that I am hardly more than a swaddling babe and have yet to celebrate my second birthday. Only fools expect an infant to martyr herself for the greater good. But infant or not, I have made my decision, and nothing you can say will convince me otherwise. In this, I am as iron."

Nasuada reasoned with her further, but as Elva had promised, it proved to be a futile prospect. At last Nasuada asked Angela, Eragon, and Saphira to intervene. Angela refused on the grounds that she could not improve on Nasuada's words and that she believed Elva's choice was a personal one and therefore the girl ought to be able to do as she wished without being harried like an eagle by a flock of jays. Eragon was of a similar opinion, but he consented to say, "Elva, I cannot tell you what you should do – only you can determine that – but do not reject Nasuada's request out of hand. She is trying to save us all from Galbatorix, and she needs our support if we are to have any chance of success. The future is hidden to me, but I believe that your ability might be the perfect weapon against Galbatorix. You could predict his every attack. You could tell us exactly how to counteract his wards. And above all else, you would be able to sense where Galbatorix is vulnerable, where he is most weak, and what we could do to hurt him."

"You will have to do better than that, Rider, if you want to change my mind."

"I don't want to change your mind," said Eragon. "I only want to make sure you have given due consideration to the implications of your decision and that you are not being overly hasty."

The girl shifted but did not respond.

Mariah glanced over at him, speaking gently. "Eragon, you can't ask her to repeat herself. You must remember she is still a child."

Then Saphira asked, _What is in your heart, O Shining Brow?_

Elva answered in a soft tone, with no trace of malice. "I have spoken my heart, Saphira. Any other words would be redundant."

If Nasuada was frustrated by Elva's obstinacy, she did not allow it to show, although her expression was stern, as befitted the discussion. She said, "I do not agree with your choice, Elva, but we will abide by it, for it is obvious that we cannot sway you. I suppose I cannot fault you, as I have no experience with the suffering you are exposed to on a daily basis, and if I were in your position, it is possible I would act no differently. Eragon, if you will..."

At her bidding, Eragon knelt in front of Elva. As tall as she was becoming, nearly in her teen years, he had to look up at her face. Her lustrous violet eyes bored into him as he placed her small hands between his larger ones. Her flesh burned against his as if she had a fever.

"Will it hurt, Shadeslayer?" Greta asked, the old woman's voice quavering.

"It shouldn't, but I do not know for sure. Removing spells is a much more inexact art than casting them. Magicians rarely if ever attempt it because of the challenges it poses."

The wrinkles on her face contorted with worry, Greta patted Elva on the head, saying, "Oh, be brave, my plum. Be brave." She did not seem to notice the look of irritation Elva directed at her. Mark guided the old woman to sit back down, reassuring her quietly.

Eragon ignored the interruption. "Elva, listen to me. There are two different methods for breaking an enchantment. One is for the magician who originally cast the spell to open himself to the energy that fuels our magic-"

"That's the part I always had difficulty with," said Angela. "It's why I rely more upon potions and plants and object that are magical in and of themselves than upon incantations."

"Angela," Mark hissed, turning around and glaring at her.

Her cheeks dimpling, Angela said, "I'm sorry. Proceed."

"Right," growled Eragon. "One is for the original magician to open himself-"

"Or herself," Angela interjected, receiving glares from both siblings the second time.

"Will you please let me finish?"

"Sorry."

Eragon saw Nasuada fight back a smile. "He opens himself to the flow of energy within his body and, speaking in the ancient language, recants not only the words of his spell but also the intention behind it. This can be quite difficult, as you might imagine. Unless the magician has the right intent, he will end up altering the original spell instead of lifting it. And then he would have to unsay _two_ intertwined spells.

"The other method is to cast a spell that directly counteracts the effects of the original spell. It does not eliminate the original spell, but if done properly, it renders it harmless. With your permission, this is the method I intend to use."

"The same as what I used to nullify the oaths I swore to Murtagh, and him to me," Mariah said simply. Eragon glanced up at her, nodding.

"A most elegant solution," Angela proclaimed, "but who, pray tell, provides the continuous stream of energy needed to maintain this counterspell? And since someone must ask, what can go wrong with this particular method?"

Eragon kept his gaze fixed on Elva. "The energy will have to come from you," he told her, pressing her hands with his. "It won't be much, but it will still reduce your stamina by a certain amount. If I do this, you will never be able to run as far or lift as many pieces of firewood as someone who does not have a similar incantation leeching off them."

"Why can't you provide the energy?" asked Elva, arching an eyebrow. "You are the one who is responsible for my predicament, after all."

"I would, but the farther away I got from you, the harder it would be to send the energy to you. And if I went too far – a mile, say, or maybe a bit more – the effort would kill me. As for what can go wrong, the only risk is that I will word the counterspell improperly and it won't block all of my blessing. If that happens, I will simply cast another counterspell."

"And if that falls short as well?"

He paused. "Then I can always resort to the first method I explained. I would prefer to avoid that, however. It is the only way to completely do away with a spell, but if the attempt were to go amiss, and it very well might, you could end up worse off than you are now."

"Even after all of your time in Ellesmera, you aren't confident enough in yourself to simply reverse the spell?" Mark asked him. Eragon shook his head slightly, glancing up at Mark. "I wish I would have stopped you in Farthen Dûr."

"As do I." Eragon looked back at Elva and sighed quietly, "Have I your permission to proceed, then?"

When she dipped her chin again, Eragon took a deep breath, readying himself. His eyes half closed from the strength of his concentration he began to speak in the ancient language. Each word fell from his tongue with the weight of a hammer blow. He was careful to enunciate every syllable, every sound that was foreign to his own language, so as to avoid a potentially tragic mishap. The counterspell was burned into his memory. He had spent many hours during his trip from Helgrind inventing it, agonizing over it, challenging himself to devise better alternatives, all in anticipation of the day he would attempt to atone for the harm he had caused Elva. As he spoke, Saphira channeled her strength into him, and he felt her supporting him and watching closely, ready to intervene if she saw in his mind that he was about to mangle the incantation. The counterspell was very long and very complicated, for he had sought to address every reasonable interpretation of his blessing. As a result, a full five minutes passed before Eragon uttered the last sentence, word, and then syllable.

In the silence that followed, Elva's face clouded with disappointment. "I can still sense them," she said.

Nasuada leaned forward in her seat. "Who?"

"You, him, her, everyone who's in pain. They haven't gone away! The urge to help them, that's gone, but this agony still courses through me." Furrowing her brow, Mariah walked toward Elva, kneeling in front of her, searching her face. Her body was tense as she absently stared at the floor.

"Elva?" Her gaze met Mariah's, her eyes were almost black, her pupils dilated. "Eragon, you missed something."

He frowned. "Give me a little while to think, and I'll put together another spell that may do the trick. There are a few other possibilities I considered, but..." He trailed off, troubled by the fact that the counterspell had not performed as expected. Moreover, deploying a spell specifically to block the pain Elva was feeling would be far more difficult than trying to undo the blessing as a whole. One wrong word, one poorly constructed phrase, and he might destroy her sense of empathy, or preclude her from ever learning how to communicate with her mind, or inhibit her own sense of pain, so she could not immediately notice when she was injured.

Eragon was in the midst of consulting with Saphira when Elva said, "No!"

Puzzled, he looked at her.

An ecstatic glow seemed to emanate from Elva. Her round, pearl-like teeth gleamed as she smiled, her eyes flashing with triumphant joy. "No, don't try again."

"But, Elva, why would-"

"Because I don't want any more spells feeding off me. And because I just realized _I can ignore them_!" Trembling with excitement, she looked at Mariah. "Without the urge to aid everyone who is suffering, I can ignore their troubles, and it doesn't make me sick! I can ignore the man with the amputated leg, I can ignore the woman who just scalded her hand, I can ignore them all, and I feel no worse for it! It's true I can't block them perfectly, not yet at least, but oh, what a relief! Silence. Blessed silence. No more cuts, scrapes, bruises, or broken bones. No more petty worries of air-headed youths. No more anguish of abandoned wives or cuckolded husbands. No more the thousands of unbearable injuries of an entire war. No more the gut-wrenching panic that precedes the final darkness." With tears starting down her cheeks, she laughed, a husky warble that set Eragon's scalp atingle.

 _What madness is this?_ asked Saphira. _Even if you can put it out of your mind, why remain shackled to the pain of others when Eragon may yet be able to free you of it?_

Elva's eyes glowed with unsavory glee. "I will never be like ordinary people. If I must be different, then let me keep that which sets me apart. As long as I can control this power, as it seems I now can, I have no objection to carrying this burden, for it shall be by my choice and not forced upon me by your magic, Eragon. Ha! From now on, I shall answer to no one and no thing. If I help anyone, it will be because I want to. If I serve the Varen, it will because my conscience tells me I should and not because you ask me to Nasuada, or because I'll throw up if I don't. I will do as I please, and woe unto those who oppose me, for I know all their fears and shall not hesitate to play upon them in order to fulfill my wishes."

"Elva!" exclaimed Greta. "Do not say such terrible things! You cannot mean them!"

The girl turned toward her so sharply, her hair fanned out behind her. "Ah yes, I had forgotten about you, my nursemaid. Ever faithful. Always fussing. I am grateful to you for adopting me after my mother died, and for the care you've given me since Farthen Dûr, but I do not require your assistance anymore I will live alone, tend to myself, and be beholden to no one." Cowed, the old woman covered her mouth with the hem of a sleeve and shrank back.

What Elva said appalled Eragon. He decided that he could not allow her to retain her ability if she was going to abuse it. With Saphira's assistance, for she agreed with him, he picked the most promising of the new counterspells he had been contemplating earlier and opened his mouth to deliver the lines.

Mark stepped in front of him, giving him a shove backward, startling him out of his spell-casting. Behind him, Elva was tensed, snarling up toward the Rider, ready to pounce on Eragon to hold him silent. Mark held Eragon's gaze as Elva spoke aloud, in a voice like warm honey. "Eragon, cease. If you cast that spell, you will hurt me as you hurt me once before. You do not want that. Every night when you lay yourself down to sleep, you will think of me, and the memory of the wrong you have committed will torment you. What you were about to do was evil, Eragon. Are you the judge of the world? Will you condemn me in the absence of wrongdoing merely because you do not approve of me? That way lies the depraved pleasure of controlling others for your own satisfaction. Galbatorix would approve."

"Elva." The purple-eyed girl flicked her gaze to Mariah, "You know Eragon would never do anything like that."

"You should understand better than any controlling others is the first step toward following in his footsteps. Galbatorix would approve of removing my power here and now before I become something you do not wish. Something none of you can control." She looked back at Eragon. "I am grateful to you also, Eragon, for coming here today to correct your mistake. Not everyone is as willing to acknowledge and confront their shortcomings. However, you have earned no favor with me today. You have righted the scales as best you could, but that is only what any decent person ought to have done. You have not compensated me for what I have endured, nor can you. So when next we cross paths, Eragon Shadeslayer, count me not as a friend or foe. I am ambivalent toward you, Rider; I am just as prepared to hate you as I am to love you. This outcome is yours alone to decide. Saphira, you gave me the star upon my brow, and you have always been kind to me. I am and shall always remain your faithful servant."

Lifting her chin to maximize her four foot height, Elva surveyed the interior of the pavilion. "Good day." And with that, she swept off toward the entrance, Mariah standing and stepping after her with a sigh.

"What sort of monster have I created?" Eragon asked aloud, turning to Nasuada, pale faced. "I'm sorry. I seem to have only made things worse for you – for all of us."

Calm as a mountain lake Nasuada arranged her robes before answering: "No matter. The game has gotten a little more complicated that is all. It is to be expected the closer we get to Urû'baen and Galbatorix."

"Angela, don't _hit_ him," Mark rolled his eyes as the witch slapped at Eragon. They watched him flinch, roll forward and pull a knife from his belt as he turned on his attacker. Eragon's elven guards were all standing behind her if she should attack him again or to escort her away should Eragon order it. Solembum was at her feet, teeth and claws bared, and his hair standing on end.

"What did you do that for?" he demanded. He winced as his split lower lip stretched, tearing the flesh farther apart. Warm, metallic-tasting blood trickled down his throat.

Angela tossed her head. "Now I'm going to have to spend the next ten years teaching Elva how to behave! That's _not_ what I had in mind for the next decade!"

"Oh no you're not - you don't have to teach her anything Angela. She won't _let_ you teach her anything. If you haven't noticed by now, she's not much into compliance. She'll try and stop you."

She rounded on Mark, pushing up on her toes to get nose-to-nose with him, despite his being nearly a foot taller. "Humph. Not likely. She doesn't know what bothers me, nor what might be about to hurt me. I saw to that the day she and I first met."

"Would you share this spell with us?" Nasuada asked. "After how this has turned out, it seems prudent for us to have a means of protecting ourselves from Elva."

"No, I don't think I will," said Angela. Then she too marched out of the pavilion, and Solembum stalked after her, waving his tail ever so gracefully.

Mark shouted, "Angela!" And pushed past the elves after the witch.

Nasuada rubbed her temples with a circular motion. "Magic," she cursed.

"Magic," agreed Eragon. Mariah covered her mouth, chuckling quietly at them. "What?"

"You are cursing something that is indifferent. Magic is not what caused this, but people. We are what causes magic to take on a form, nothing else. I'm sure we'll be fine. Nasuada, if you would excuse us." She inclined her head in approval. Mariah smiled at her, taking Eragon's wrist and walking him out of the pavilion. Once they were out of sight of everyone save his elvish guard, she turned and healed his lip for him, "There."

"You didn't have to do that."

She shrugged a little. "What did Murtagh want?"

Eragon blinked, remembering that he had promised to talk to him later. "I don't know exactly."

"Well, you should probably go find him."

"Aye, and what are you going to do?" He asked as she dropped his wrist.

"I'll be fine on my own for a while, just go talk to him. I'm sure there's a lot you need to discuss." Mariah stepped back and waved slightly, wandering off through the tents.

Glancing at his elvish guard, he paused for a moment. _You know she would not appreciate being followed young one,_ said Saphira. _Trust her._

 _Aye. Let's go find Murtagh and Thorn._ He stretched out his mind, trying to find the other Rider. There were a few fleeting impressions from soldiers nearby, climbing up onto Saphira's back. She lumbered through the camp a short ways until she came upon the clearing where she could take off, beating her wings and rising high into the air. Pushing through the clouds she flipped onto her back, diving in a loop before shooting off toward a ridge overlooking the camp.

Thorn was already there, lounging in the sunlight. He stood when Saphira landed, wrapping his tail around his paws and lowering his head to her.

 _Saphira Bjartskular,_ Thorn said. _I am grateful to see you returned unharmed from your battle against the Lethrblaka. They are a... formidable foe._

 _They were,_ she agreed, stopping in front of him and tipping her head slightly to observe the red dragon. She sensed Eragon's surprise at the musical notes in Thorn's voice, for it sounded far different from Andrar's stiffer, noble tone. Though he was as large as she was, Saphira remembered he was still only a hatchling.

 _I wish for you to hear my apology for harming you during the battle of the Burning Plains, and ask your forgiveness. My will was not my own._ Thorn's head was still lowered to her, his eyes now closed.

Saphira rumbled in her chest, _You and your Rider are forgiven, Thorn._ She lowered herself to the ground and stretched like a cat, as Eragon jumped down from her back. The red dragon twisted, mirroring her position.

Murtagh brushed a hand across Thorn's snout and looked back at Eragon. "What called you to Nasuada so early in the morning?"

"That is a long story - for another time perhaps," he said, sitting on the ground against Saphira's tail. Murtagh tapped his leg before sitting in front of him by Thorn's forepaw. "I feel as though there is enough to discuss without that."

"Aye," he said, nodding.

Eragon observed him, noting the dark circles under his eyes and sighed. Mariah had said he returned the night prior after rushing off after Kendra. Eragon had barely spoken to either of the princesses since their arrival, and knew little about them, but it was clear Murtagh was very close with both. He couldn't imagine the past few days he had been through. "Honestly, I don't know where to start."

"Ran through the Empire's entire countryside, saved your cousin's beloved, and defeated the Ra'zac, and you don't know how to start talking to me?" He folded his arms, leaning his head back. "This is going to be a long conversation, eh Thorn?" The dragon laughed, smoke coming from his nose. Eragon hid his surprise at his joking tone, considering the state he was in. "Where would you like to begin, ignoring all formalities and presumptions?"

"How you're my brother. How Morzan is my father and why... our mother decided to abandon me in Carvahall of all places."

"Be thankful she did. By leaving me with Morzan she did me no favors." He continued before Eragon could combat him, "Do not misunderstand, I loved every moment she could have with me. Though I envy you, not being raised under the shadow of Galbatorix."

"I understand your meaning." He agreed, "I am sorry our fortunes have been so very different."

"I do not need your sympathy, Eragon." Murtagh watched him fidget under his hard gaze before speaking again. "I am who I am because of my past. There is no reason for apologies or consolation, an ending has nothing to do with how it starts. Now, knowing you there must be a thousand questions burning in your mind."

He paused. "What do you remember about her, our mother?"

A flash of pain shot across Murtagh's face, having hoped Eragon would not start there. "I was only three when she left you realize."

"I'm sorry. I had just always hoped to know more about her, and thought perhaps you would be able to tell me something I haven't learned yet." His shoulders dropped. "I never knew who my parents were, and now that I do, part of me wishes I never found out."

"You should be glad you can hide your lineage, Eragon. I look too much like our father. I even have the same color dragon, as if his face wasn't enough."

Eragon let out a sigh, looking up at his brother's dragon. "Did Thorn hatch for you willingly?"

"Yes," he said, raising an eyebrow at him. "I thought very strongly that I would rather Thorn hatch willingly than being forced to by Galbatorix. And perhaps it was that, or some other stronger magic that made this happen."

"I was just... curious. If our blood had anything to do with it... or if it was simply unkind fate."

"And how unkind our fate seems to be. I will not bore you with my upbringing, as enthralling as it would be for me to lament my childhood. What happened to you in Ellesméra?"

"I was changed - healed. Though, perhaps you know some of what I am now. You seemed more than capable of fighting Saphira and I." Eragon said, pulling one leg up against his chest, resting his arm there.

"Indeed, Galbatorix made sure that we were prepared for battle against you. He wanted us to capture Saphira and bring both of you to Urû'baen so that you could join his Forsworn. He quite enjoyed the idea of Morzan's sons leading his army." He paused, "What of your back?"

"I bear no scar from the fight with Durza."

Murtagh's mouth twisted into a vague smile, nodding.

Eragon spoke quietly, understanding his jealousy. "I am glad you were able to escape Galbatorix."

"It was mostly Mariah's doing," he admitted, watching Eragon's ears burn. Murtagh studied him for a moment before lowering his gaze. "How much did she tell you?"

"She regaled everything from the moment you were captured in Farthen Dûr, until the battle..." Eragon said, clearing his throat. "I will admit what transpired did not surprise me, but my jealousy did. Until then, I had no reason to be."

"You were never jealous?"

Eragon shook his head, "At least, not consciously or as strongly. Just knowing I couldn't safeguard her and that you did for nearly three months. It's difficult for me."

"You did what you could have."

"No, Murtagh. I knew she was alive." He said, looking at Murtagh, fingers combing through his hair. "I talked to her."

"She couldn't scry anyone, and Galbatorix blocked all communication spells with the castle."

"No, it wasn't scrying. I don't know how to explain it, but - like with Arya, when she was being held captive in Gil'ead. When I was asleep, I could talk to her. With the elves, I thought it was just something that happened because of the blood-oath ceremony, but I don't think that's all it is anymore."

"Wait, are you telling me you were talking to her telepathically... while you were asleep? That's ridiculous, a spell like that would take immense concentration on the person you were talking to. No one should be able to do that." Murtagh watched him fidgeting, "Prove it."

"I can't... not really." Eragon stared at the ground for a minute before taking a deep breath to settle his nerves. He hadn't had the chance to speak to anyone else about this since it had happened, not even Saphira. "There was one time, we were in a glade, and talking. She said something about flowers, daisies and irises – they're her favorite – but... in the dream, I grew a bunch of red-orange irises and gave them to her. This was weeks ago now I had this dream. And just a few days ago, while on our way back to the Varden, we were talking, and she was telling me about how she just kept imagining that everything would get better somehow despite being stuck in Urû'baen. And she mentioned that same dream, and some of the other ones - the same ones I had. I don't know how to explain it. They were just the same."

"I don't know how you did it with Arya, and I don't know how you did it now."

"Neither do I," Eragon said. Murtagh rubbed a hand over his eyes, sighing. Finally, he stood and stretched, planting a hand on his hip. In turn, Eragon scrambled to his feet, standing just a few feet away from the older man. "Where are you going?"

"Well, it seems as though I've been forgiven. Yes?"

"Aye."

He smirked, looking over Eragon for a moment, holding out his hand. Eragon grasped his forearm firmly, grinning back. "Thank you brother."

"Brother. Fate is fickle indeed, to send us across Alagaësia together, just to cross swords as enemies. And to think, this whole time..."

Lowering his hand, Murtagh shrugged, "Our fate is what we make it now, Eragon."

"Are you staying with the Varden?"

He folded his arms again, leaning back on his right leg. "Kieran has sworn some sort of fealty to Nasuada, for some reason she is enamored by her. I will remain with the Varden as long as it suits me."

"Until Kendra leaves?" Eragon asked him.

"Perhaps. I have to wait for her to wake first."

"Is she still asleep?"

"Last I knew, yes, but she lost a lot of blood in her fight against Pearce and Sigrúne." He dug his heel into the ground, "If I didn't have to catch her, I would have pursued him."

Eragon watched him. "I am glad you returned safely."

"And I you with Mariah, though that was still a foolish thing to do." He said, rounding on him, causing Eragon to grimace. "You aren't invincible Eragon, and neither is she. One or both of you could have been killed. Traversing the Empire is no easy feat, and I am honestly impressed by your ability to get through it almost unscathed."

"You don't have to start lecturing me now, just because you discovered I am your brother."

"Who else is going to listen to my wisdom?"

Eragon barked a laugh, "Wisdom?"

"You could use a healthy dose. From what I know, you've still not revealed your supposedly unrequited feelings to a certain someone." Blinking, Eragon abruptly recalled the morning they were leaving to hunt the Ra'zac. The dream that he had that morning with Mariah in it forced his entire face to burn red. Murtagh watched in amazement as his face blushed. "Gods! What happened?" A single burst of laughter escaped his throat, "Eragon?"

He rubbed his face in an attempt to hide it, holding his hand over his eyes, staring at the ground. "I have been blind."

"Care to explain?"

"She doesn't hate me."

"No, she really doesn't," Murtagh confirmed for him. "You should have heard her in Urû'baen, constantly trying not to think about you every single second. It was like she never had anything to talk about, because all of it concerned you."

"I mean – she calls me Shadeslayer. She hated that name. But she started to call me that."

"Because you were being a bastard to her, I would have too. I'm glad she tried to hit you, should have let her."

"I only did it... so it wouldn't hurt so much."

"That's the basic point-"

Eragon shook his head. "No, she swore her oath to me in order to protect me, but by doing so, she gave me every permission to kill her if Galbatorix _did_ get into her mind. I couldn't do that, not to Mariah."

"You didn't think you were capable of killing her - or that you were and would refuse, even if completely necessary." Murtagh nodded, "Aye, that makes sense. Eragon, I will tell you something, as a man, a friend, and now your brother. If you don't hurry up and tell her, someone else will. And the longer you wait, the longer she's going to think her love for you isn't known. No physical wound hurts more than that of unrequited love. It is like an endless pit in the depth of your soul that nothing can fill."

He searched his face and then nodded. "I never thought I would be hearing advice from you about such things."

Smirking, Murtagh clapped him on the shoulder, "You can come to me with whatever you need now. As before, only now I'm required to help since we are family."

"Aye," Eragon said slowly. "Murtagh, will you come with me? There's something I believe we need to do - something I wish you could have done a long time ago."

* * *

With Love, As Always,

Mariah Dawnsinger


End file.
